


The Frost and the Phoenix Mind

by a_bag_of_cats



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Acting, Action, Angry Loki, Asgard, Badass SHIELD Agents, Betrayal, Between Rage and Serenity, Biology, Brutal Murder, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Charm, Complete, Control, Control Issues, Cosmic Cube, Cruelty, Daggers, Dark, Dark Character, Dark Loki, Dark Past, Death, Deception, Eventual Sex, Evil, Evil Loki, Evil Plans, Evil is Subjective, F/M, Fear, Fear Play, Gifteds (Agents of SHIELD), Gun Violence, Gungnir, Hostage Situations, Humor, Hydra (Marvel), Infinity Gems, Injustice, Interrogation, Jötunn Loki, King Loki, Language, Level 7 (SHIELD), Lies, Loki Lies, Loki-centric, Magic, Manipulation, Massacre, Mild Language, Mind Control, Murder, Mystery, Mythology References, Original Character Death(s), Phobias, Plot, Plot Twists, Plotty, Politics, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Canon, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pregnancy, Psychology, Rage, Revenge, Rough Sex, SHIELD, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Suspense, Tesseract, The Space Gem, The Tesseract (Marvel), Trickster Loki, Trust Issues, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, War, Warning: Loki, eloquence, mindfuckery, Æsir | Aesir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 174,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2134641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bag_of_cats/pseuds/a_bag_of_cats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is supposed to be dead, but his past captive, Agent Iversen, still disappears from SHIELD's omnipotent global radar. Director Coulson has his suspicions, and they'll do whatever it takes to find her. They had a very good reason for keeping her close by.</p><p>Loki is very much alive, and he intends to turn the mortal's rare problem - of which he was the cause - into a rare opportunity. It will require patience, a heart, and every ounce of his beguiling skills. But she will comply. And he will have his way. Even if it risks being exposed as a fraudulent king.</p><p>Loki is cold and ruthless. There's something alluring about him; his mind - but that's not the point. There aren't a lot of solutions to her predicament. So she'll accept his imperious kindness, and try to understand his rage. But some things aren't meant to be understood. And rage will be the catalyst for the deadly chemical reaction that decides the fate of the realms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of Control, but the previous work is not a prerequisite for understanding. All elements alluded to are explained (if necessary) and peppered about the piece. It's very different from its predecessor, anyway. x)

Lock the door. Never forget that, he reminded himself obsessively. Such a simple precaution as compared to every other he was taking, and yet its neglect or ill-timing could unravel it all in an instant. He turned and surveyed the room. There appeared to be nothing out of place. The walls were decorated with intricate tapestries, exotic furs and heirloom swords - none askew. The storage chest sat at the foot of the lavish bed against the wall - not a fold placed differently, and the chest's gilded lock shined unmarred by touch. The solid wood table by the window revealed glints of gold in its grain when struck by rays of sunlight, as the silk curtains shifted slightly in the breeze. It sat with its matching chairs - precisely how he'd left them. He closed the window and eliminated the gap in the curtains. Once satisfied, he drifted towards the center of the room. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, tucked a fallen lock of hair behind his ear, and straightened his posture. He placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes, concentrating. He brought to the surface the memory of a certain mind, one which he'd touched a little over a year ago. Like a strand of spider's silk between two branches, the connection remained - small, almost invisible, but unbroken, and deceptively strong. Just like her.

Searching through all the mortals on Midgard was like feathering the pages of a book. The short-lived, fickle beings changed their minds and thought processes so often, and quickly, that it would take a few minutes to seek out the consistencies of just one. Scanning too hastily would ensure that he'd miss it, so he slowed, highlighting minds with specific qualities, in just one city. In only a few seconds he was drawn to a small group, and then one in particular. He concentrated on it to reveal its surface thoughts, digging for an intrinsic self-image. It was that of a young adult female, a little over five feet tall, moderately athletic in build. But in all images she held her frame meekly, as if she were frail. She had a round face and broad features. Long, fine, icy blonde hair, tightly bound when at work but otherwise trailing free... There were impressions of a habit of combing it down over a small scar, slightly-curved around her right temple. And the most intense, fierce green eyes. To his surprise, he had found her easily this time. She was putting off an array of strong emotions.

"What. Thee. Fuck." was the only thing she said out loud - and under her breath, despite the fact that she was only talking to herself. She pressed a hand to her forehead and paced the floor in frustration... for the third time this month. She'd known that what the scale said this week probably wouldn't make sense either, but she'd just... really hoped, that this time would be different.

She veered off of her repetitive path and wandered into the living room. She flopped down onto the sofa and, for the first time, really pondered her situation. She'd been eating differently despite the nausea. Getting _much_ more exercise despite fatigue. But she'd still been steadily gaining weight. Progressively more upset about it, she'd even told her friends - coworkers in various fields of biology, as well as her own - as the weeks became months of what, for lack of a better term, she referred to as 'this bullshit'. Each idea they'd come up with had eventually been disproven by lack - or addition - of symptoms.

The most disturbing one was her temperature. She always felt hot. It was something that came with the hazards of living in the Southwest, yes - and that's why she hadn't reported it to anybody yet. But hers was a _feverish_ hot, all the time, complete with the occasional sweat. Three different thermometers had all said she was actually a few degrees _below_ normal. A chorus of mechanical humming now resounded throughout her apartment, from four air conditioners - each one more powerful (and expensive) than the last. One of them sputtered and crackled, having been running continuously for the better part of a year. It reminded her of how extreme this really was.

She decided to see an actual doctor. If not for her own comfort, then because of her employers' recurrent warnings. Whenever any little thing went wrong, the first thing they did was remind her to report to them any issue that could put abnormal amounts of stress on the artificial side of her heart. This was officially something that she couldn't afford to ignore any longer.

Focus eluded her at the lab all day. Insane thoughts of having various rare and unusual conditions flooded her mind, drowning out the details of each and every task at hand. The supernatural biology she was studying certainly didn't help her ignore them. It fueled her imagination to new heights.

When it was time to leave, her stomach soured. The doctor she was going to right after work was also in the employ of SHIELD. She had no other choice. She couldn't afford to go to an outside office any time soon. But doctor-patient confidentiality still applies, she reasserted to herself. With that in place, no results - no matter how unusual - could leave the office without her permission. Not even for her superiors.

Despite a lack of sound logic to back it up, a distinctly powerful urge she'd been trying to suppress kept saying 'don't trust that - trust _them_ \- in this sort of circumstance'. Nevertheless, she trudged down the halls - exhausted and nauseated already - scanned her ID card at the door, and left the department. Fortunately the journey to the adjacent medical facility was a short one.

The look on Dr. Talwar's face - and the fact that he'd barely given her a glance when she escorted herself back to his main office, still zipping up her SHIELD-issued jumpsuit - said he was genuinely puzzled. And she knew why. If her symptoms, scans or bloodwork had made any sense at all, she'd have figured it out for herself months ago.

He stared at his monitor anyway, as if the stationary screen might spontaneously add something to help him out. She started out sitting upright, nervously, in the chair beside his desk. But after what seemed like forever, she gradually melted into a slouch, resting her chin in her hands, arms propped up on a crossed leg. His zombified expression would occasionally become one of great interest, and he'd start tapping his fingers on the keyboard again. He has a very nice wedding ring on that hand, she thought. Good to see that _somebody_ gets paid well working for these guys. He stopped, closed his eyes, and lifted his glasses with his index finger so he could pinch the bridge of his nose with with the remaining ones. "I'm going to have to call in a consultation on this," is what he finally stated.

She pressed her lips together in an expression of mild disappointment. He could tell that she wasn't really surprised. She had access to about half of the same equipment that he did. He was sure she'd formed her own crude theories about the symptoms, long before coming in. But there was no way that any of them were even _close_ to (what certainly appeared to be) the truth. She was very clever, and overly cautious. She wouldn't have come here if she'd known. He was _very_ glad that she did... for her own good.

She lifted her head just a little. "That bad, huh?"

He raised his eyebrows, then his eyes shifted away. "Y...yeah," he forced a laugh, but he knew he probably wasn't making a convincing smile back.

She almost didn't notice him glance at the phone sitting on his desk before he left the office, making a quick right turn as if to start down the hallway. However, just before the door closed behind him, through the gap in the hinges, she could clearly see his tan, gold-ringed hand pick up the phone on the opposite wall. This made her very uneasy. Why was that suddenly necessary? What was it that she wasn't supposed to hear?

She couldn't quite make out his words because of the amount of background noise in the huge tiled hallway. But about two minutes after he starting speaking she heard the distinct, familiar sound of more people hastily approaching... in full guard gear. Some of those footsteps faded away - two or three, down a different hallway. And some, moving more quickly, got closer. She stood up as two security agents crowded into the small room, with the doctor standing in the hall a few feet behind them. She looked to him for an explanation, but he only gave her a pained look. He allowed his gaze to shift toward the tiny camera, which was mounted in the corner of his office, correctly distanced and oriented to capture the patient, the desk, and especially the computer monitor.

One of them went to the computer and applied a flash drive to its port. He began clicking on things she couldn't see, then quickly removed the drive. He typed a short command, and it made a horrible noise - one that she'd never heard come from a computer before, but perhaps at some point in her childhood from an old, malfunctioning fax machine. The larger man had posted by the door, looking away. They were both watching her though - discreetly analyzing her physical state, and all reactions to their presence... just as _she'd_ been trained to do. When the computer was seemingly dead, the door-guard looked at the other, and then at her. He said "Ms. Iversen, would you please come with us." It wasn't a question.

She hesitated. "Alright..."

They walked in strict formation to the nearest exit: the smaller guard leading the way, enclosing the flash drive completely in his hand, as if it were a large sum of money. The doctor was approximately at her five, and the big guard at seven. "What's this about, guys?" she asked casually, careful to keep her suspicions from her voice. Nobody answered, which she'd half expected. But nobody looked at anyone else either, or even missed a step. So they all knew exactly what was happening. She looked back at the doctor, as he was not so stoic. He immediately looked away.

She kept quiet then, as they made their way out of the facility, and traversed the wide walkway between buildings. She was trying to determine where they were going. The big guy watched her face each time it turned his way, but her level of observance wasn't unusual. Anyone, no matter what knowledge they had, would be curious.

After a while their destination became apparent. Her eyes widened, but that was all the reaction she let escape before killing it. She absolutely could not let them see. She knew what that building was. She'd been there before, though only a few times, for the cases where the intelligence she required - for some fascinating reason - was not portable. It was full of holding cells... where they kept potentially dangerous, contagious and mentally or physically fragile beings - for hours, or sometimes years - until they figured out what they were going to do with them.

She made sure that nobody had noticed her slip-up, and waited a minute just for good measure. Then she gasped, let her knees weaken and stumbled forward, falling to the concrete, just barely catching herself with her hands. At this, the doctor stepped away, clearly startled. The small guy took a few more steps, not noticing at first, and then stopped. But the big guy, by then, was already coaxing her to her feet. He took her upper arm but she still latched onto his, looking fearfully into his eyes, holding it weakly with both hands for support. When she was almost standing again, she gripped him even tighter. Then, with expert swiftness, she used the arm to pull him into a full-force knee strike, to the only place that they never covered with armor: the face. His head snapped back, and that's all she saw before bolting with unanticipated speed back the way they came, around the corner and out of sight.

She paused briefly on the other side of a building, quieting her breaths to near silence. Thanks to the acoustics of an all-cement compound, she could hear exactly where they were at all times. The first thing they did was split up, running around each side of it. The doctor was running too, though not keeping up with them of course. She heard the shorter one call for backup, and she knew it would be coming from somewhere close. But she still had her ID card with her... their mistake. It was on a lanyard tucked into the top of her uniform, and she had security clearance for almost every door. She pressed a hand over the door lock's embedded speaker, used the card - causing a barely-audible confirmation beep - and silently went inside. She ran through the main hallway, making a few turns, before exiting out the other side to where they'd started. Ha! Still clear. She grinned. She had not failed to notice that they'd chosen the least-populated route to the cells, in case she'd made a scene... a great advantage to her now, as the 'escapee' announcements and alarms began to blare from every corner. She could no longer hear their footsteps, but she knew their next move: block the only exit. A great idea... if only she weren't running for the parking garage instead.

As the first row of vehicles came into view, she scanned the lot, and picked out an easy-to-wire old truck. Sixth row down on the end aisle, the one that faced a solid supporting wall - and big enough to provide opaque cover on a second side too, if she worked from the passenger-side door. She wasn't entirely sure of her ability to execute this plan - it was not a set of skills she'd actually _used_ yet - but it was, by far, her best chance of escape. Inside the garage the alarms were so loud they hurt her ears. So she ran for it even faster, knowing that she now had no hope of detecting any followers by sound.

On the other side, she crouched down, and looked around her under the cars for feet. There were none. She paused to catch her breath, feeling that familiar pressure in her chest as the artificial ventricle struggled to keep up with the demand of the organic. She checked again. Then she frisbeed her ID under the cars, pulled apart the lanyard's jump ring, and used her foot and the pavement to bend it straight, creating a decent lockpick. When she paused again to examine the truck's door, she suddenly saw in her peripheral vision a looming figure. It was the big guard. He couldn't have been there for long.

Upon realizing exactly how surprised she was to see him, he allowed his glare to soften just a bit. He was, after all, completely blocking her only way out. No intimidation necessary. As he started towards her again she sprung to her feet, placed a hand on the hood of the car behind her, and vaulted onto it. She whipped her arm up to complete the move, stand and start running again - but to her displeasure, the other arm didn't move. She almost fell backwards. He wouldn't have bothered to catch the little bitch either, he thought. But he had caught the arm, faster than she thought was at all possible... and that's all a guy like him needed.

He smiled cruelly and yanked her down hard, enough to make her yelp as her shoulder dislocated. He blocked her punch from the other arm, and the knee aimed at his groin. He very much resented the bleeding wound above his eye, and didn't plan on taking any more of her damage. With overwhelming strength he dragged her out from between the cars, securing her arms behind her back. She fought him hard, every step of the way, as if her life depended on it. He nodded toward his partner on the other side of the lot, who acknowledged, then called in the status update.

A winded Dr. Talwar stumbled in from the same entrance. But when he saw them there he slowed down, catching his breath, as he fished for something in his pocket. The guard turned her away and clamped his hand onto her shoulder. As the doctor approached, he pushed her to her knees, with more force than was necessary, causing a reverberating pain when they hit the hard surface. He used the stun-time to reposition, and pin her arms more tightly against the small of her back. He knelt, putting all his weight across her ankles, just before she saw the syringe. She writhed against his grip with all her strength, to no avail. He ordered her to do something; probably just to stop fighting him. But even at this distance the noise drowned out his words. She glowered at Doctor Talwar. He couldn't avoid her eyes now.

He shook his head slowly, dubiously, and mouthed the words "I'm sorry". Quickly, he injected her arm with the contents - before she could start struggling again. At that, the guard released her. She jerked the opposite shoulder forward in response, but her arms only fell to her sides. She tried to move her legs, but the attempt destabilized her. The doctor moved in to catch her fall, wondering if perhaps he hadn't accurately judged the dose. But she was smart enough to bend forward and place a weak hand onto the floor for support when her vision blurred. Her eyes widened, and she was visibly restricted to short, panicky breaths. His goal had been to give her no time to hurt herself, but there was a chance that he'd overcorrected, knowing it was unnecessary to protect the basic functions of her heart. There was a fail-safe for that, he knew... but still he wanted a confirming sign. A few more gasps, and she finally forced a deep breath, to compensate. He was relieved. Then her eyes welled up, and she produced an angry, terrified scream. It echoed along with the alarms repeatedly off the walls of the structure, as her body went limp, her brain shut down, and she fell face-first onto the stone floor.


	2. Leave No Evidence

Loki winced slightly as he watched. Barbaric practices. And they dared call _him_ a monster. He closed his eyes, lifted his hands, and made a short cut through the air on either side of him with straight fingers. The cacophony of alarms and voices ceased. He took a few steps forward and stopped. He still sensed something, which had a source different from that of the alarms. He lifted his head toward a device on the ceiling, briefly squinted at it, and its tiny red light blew out. The several identical ones in the cave suffered the same effect, in a wave moving outward from there.

He wished he'd come as soon as he'd wanted to, through one of his secret passageways instead. Things would have been so much simpler. He made a low, guttural sound of frustration. Then abruptly he struck the oblivious guard beside him in the head, just hard enough to render him unconscious. He reached down and shook the guard's clenched hand off of the small black device. He tucked it into a fold in his black leather tunic, as he righted himself and moved on. No need to kill him, he decided. He has no idea why he does what he does.

He then strode with determined haste to where the larger mortal was standing, above the abated agent. Now, this one... he thought, as he twirled Gungnir into position. He swung hard, and smote him down with extreme prejudice. He tried to hide a smirk as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. No one saw him - not even Heimdall - but still he concealed his enjoyment, out of habit. He raised the mighty spear again... but no. This one, though particularly savage, also has no knowledge of the reason for all of this.

The healer dropped the agent's wrist, stood, and spun around frantically, his feeble mind attempting to understand why the guards had fallen, and looking for an attacker. Loki stood behind him, contemplating. He saw no other way. At full-speed he stepped up, gripped the top of his head and mercilessly inserted a dagger into the back of his neck, severing the spine. He removed it, but before he let him fall he said, with an overt lack of sincerity, "I'm sorry".

He watched the healer fall and, flipping the dagger to right side up in his hand, he double-checked the status of the others. He never was very good at disabling lesser beings, without killing the ones he didn't intend to that is, he mused. He whipped the dagger down and away, with such unnatural force that the blood flung from its edges, splattering across the ground. He tucked it away in the same absentminded manner as he had with the primitive device.

He knelt down beside the agent and turned her onto her back. One shoulder sat lower than the other, her palms were abraised, and her eyebrow and cheek bled from where they'd hit. But the thick garment she wore protected the rest of the fragile skin. There was no damage to her mind; but it was entirely incapacitated - most likely by that brew they'd just put in her, he surmised. She had reacted to the mere sight of it with all the same vigor as she had with the scepter, a year before.

He extended his obscurement to her, lifted her gently, and carried her into the street. Calmly, he walked through a frenzy of humans towards the nearest edge of the fortress, dodging when necessary as one would scurry by. A bladed fence, much taller than he, blocked his path. Without hesitation he blasted through it, and continued his journey out into the open desert.

Heimdall waited, as instructed. He stood at attention and watched his king negotiate with the denizens of Midgard.. very closely. Precisely at the same moment that he saw him look upward, he opened the Bifrost. He closed it when Odin walked through, a sleeping mortal in his arms.

"I appreciate your discretion in this matter," Odin said. His tone was dismissive and harsh, but Heimdall knew that he was at his most sincere.

"Think nothing of it, my king."

Odin made his way out and towards the city on foot, the unusual sight reflected on the surface of the bridge, with added lines of spectrum. At the end he was met by a single healer. The only one he trusted other than Heimdall at this time, and only out of necessity.

"I was not informed that she would be asleep upon arrival... " she said as he continued his resolute pace right past her. She followed close behind. "She _is_ asleep, correct?"

"She is unconscious, so as not to create a stir," he reluctantly explained. "All of this is far too much at once for such a young creature. I will not have her going back to her people and defeating the entire purpose of this venture by describing a traumatic experience to her superiors, as suffered at the hands of Asgard." The healer looked at her as closely as possible as they walked, not willing to ask her king to stop or slow. She continued to observe the mortal's breathing, pallor and... wounds, curiously, as she spoke.

"Forgive me, your majesty, but will she not also be resentful for being deceived when she wakes?"

"Peace takes precedence over the desire to avoid deception, in this case." His words sharpened with impatience. "Her journey here was uneventful, and I do not have need of your services after all."

"Yes my liege." She nodded, she stopped, and they parted ways again.

He expertly navigated all the least-traveled paths to the Hall of Asgard, encountering only a few guards along the way. Their curious glances were nearly imperceptible, or were averted too quickly to be sure that he'd seen them at all. They went directly to the king's hall and chambers, as he planned to sort things out there - free of interruptions.

He took his time laying her body out onto the bed, careful to support her head and put all her limbs comfortably in place. Then he quickly closed the door behind them. He pondered for a second. Then he put a spell of silence over the walls as well. He approached the bed with uncertain steps, recalling all that he knew of her past, and considered changing his appearance. But no, he decided. This one was far less likely to induce a panic, at first... flighty little thing that she was. He settled next to her, placed a hand on her forehead, and waited for her mind to come back. He didn't have to wait for long.

Her eyes snapped open, but they regarded nothing. Her arms jerked with far more effort than was necessary to bring them up only from her sides, and she paused. Then her legs curled up until they were almost underneath of her and, arching her back, she sprung to her feet. But her feet were not prepared for a soft surface, and slipped on the white fur-lined bedspread. She stumbled, and was headed over the edge, before Odin reached up and grabbed her wrist to stabilize her.

She barely managed to stifle another scream. But she did, in spite of the shock from her last moments of consciousness, and now this... if it was even real. She may very well be _dead_ , she thought.

It was only then that she noticed the heavily-armored, one-eyed old man holding her in place. She ripped her arm from his grasp, clutching it to her chest, like it had somehow been compromised. "W- what is _this_? Who are _you_?"

"I am the king of Asgard," he said, indifferent to her alarm. "You are very far from your attackers, and no further harm will come to you here."

She slowed her breathing, and gave up her fight for stability on the unnaturally-soft bed. She lowered herself carefully, putting a hand down first, watching him. She sat on her knees at what she considered to be a comfortable distance away from the stranger. "Asgard." She tensed, and her toes curled around the far edge of the bed. "Where Thor and... his megalomaniac brother, are from. The one who tried to conquer us. Saw us as inferior beings, for some reason..." She chided herself for taking an indignant tone with the king of an entire planet - and a potentially dangerous entity to anger. But she was quite sick of being relocated against her will, and overwhelmingly curious. "Do you _all_ think of us that way?"

His almost indiscernible smile was one of endearing agitation. "Well, mortal. I cannot speak for every citizen here, any more than you can speak for all of humanity," he preached. " But I do not consider you inferior. You are but young, and - until recently - isolated from the rest of the realms. Some, such as yourself, are wise beyond your years. But you still have much to learn."

A very odd statement, she thought, from someone that she had heard of - but only just now met.

She closed her eyes for a second, refocusing. That was not the important question. "Why am I here?"

The slight signs of bemusement disappeared from his face. His eye narrowed, but remained assertively fixed. He spoke without condescention. "You have a condition. An indirect result of your time in captivity, under the control of the scepter. Since it was one of ours who caused it, it would be unjust for us to turn a blind eye. We intend to help you survive it."

" _Survive_ it? What condition? Why do I need to be _here_?" She didn't give him time to react to each question, and she raised her voice a bit, emphasizing the next. "And I have a feeling that I just... disappeared from the face of the Earth. You don't think that's going to cause some concern?" He easily sensed her state of mind. It was a tumultuous mess.

He spoke as if giving an order. "Please _be calm_. First, you must understand the context of things."

She quieted suddenly, responding to his tone, and he smiled very slightly, pleased to see it. He watched her face, as something else caught her attention. A ribbon of bright, green-tinted light, rising up from the floor and over the edge of the bed, sweeping the king and changing his appearance as it went. Old brown leather boots became belted, reinforced black ones. The edges of his golden brown robes and red cape became those of a long black overcoat. His bright, gold-accented steely armor, chainmail and thick leather faulds became weathered golden and black armor, partially covered by a cross-layered, green accented silk tunic. Conspicuously last, the thinning white hair and beard surrounding the tough, wise-looking face and blue eyes became barely-tamed, thick black hair, smoothed around a thoroughly amused, angular face and frighteningly intelligent green eyes.

As terror set upon her, she got up and backed into the corner, all the while staring him down.

"You!"

Loki's visage gave the same smile a distinctively nefarious edge. "A skilled actor, am I not?"

His demeanor - and seeing that he hadn't yet moved from the bed - temporarily silenced her thoughts of jumping through the nearby window. "How... I was told that you were dead! You were killed in Svartalfheim."

He held up his head. His eyes dramatically scanned their surroundings. "Evidently not."

She huffed, incredulous. "Wait. Is this even Asgard? Or is it another one of those horrible mind games you're so fond of?"

He nodded patiently. "It is..." He paused as he rose from the bed. "I've no need to use my more complex abilities," he explained, as he sauntered to the other side. "...that is, now that you're here. There is - and always will be - only the illusion I have just revealed to you." He gracefully swept his hand over himself as he said it. 'Illusions'. That's what he called them.

She remembered him changing before, from his demure black leather to a cape and gold-horned helmet. Right before the Battle of New York. "And _you're_ the king? What kind of messed-up place is this, where people want to make a war-criminal their king?"

"Watch your tongue!" he hissed. "I am a far more discerning ruler than the intended, and Asgard is all the better for it!" He turned away sharply and took a few steps, the edges of his overcoat flaying out behind him. Then he stopped and lowered his head, regaining control of his anger. "You know not that of which you speak."

Though she'd pressed herself into the wall in fear when he'd raised his voice, the lack of violence in his response reminded her, just for a second, that he wasn't entirely inimical. At least not towards her. But now, she demanded an answer.

Staring daggers at him, she firmly asked again. " _Why_ am I here?"

He turned an ear towards her. He looked down for a while, his eyes obscured by several loose locks of hair. Then he turned back to face her, very slowly.

"My apologies. Please... sit." He gestured towards her former location. Her expression remained fearful - and her body was still tensed up against the wall. His fingers curled up, and he retracted the extended arm. He closed his eyes, willing himself to cease being intimidating. He put up both his palms and raised them to shoulder-level. He took several steps backwards, away from her, the bed, everything. He turned his face away as well. "I will not touch you again."

She put her hands back and pushed herself out a few inches from the wall, but then stopped. No distance from him seemed far enough.

He angled his head a little to give her a kind, harmless look, and raised his hands a little higher. He nodded slightly towards the bed.

She took a deep breath, then went and sat there, as per his request. It wasn't like it was going to make a difference where she was anyway, if he decided to attack her. But also... she didn't think he would. He seemed different. Not different enough to make her let her guard down - he was unstable, and therefore unpredictable - but perhaps a little more controlled, at the violent end of the dial.

He pulled out a chair from the table - at least twelve feet away - and sat down... slowly. He clasped his hands together on his lap and looked her in the eyes. "You are with child."

She scowled, then laughed. "You obviously aren't very familiar with human physiology. That is _entirely_ impossible."

He raised an eyebrow and allowed a shrewd grin. "You once believed that control of the mind - _your_ mind - was impossible. And yet here we are."

She put her hand on her forehead and sighed. "What does that mean?"

"The child is mine; a result of our previous encounter. It is something I would never have considered possible, had I not seen it for myself."

This senseless, elaborate trick was beginning to sound disturbingly real. "What makes you so sure?"

He began to say something, then stopped himself. His expression suddenly turned cold. Objectively, he said "It would only frighten you."

That sounded so ridiculous, coming from him, that she couldn't help but laugh some more. "You, my friend, can't possibly frighten me any more than you already have. Besides, what does it matter how I feel, here? I can't _run_. I don't know how to get _back_ to Earth. So you tell me, right now, what it is that's led you to find me and drag me into captivity, again, after a year of thinking I was forever free of you."

He raised both eyebrows. She had a point. He visibly conceded to it, and prepared to give her exactly what she'd asked for.

"One year ago, when you lied to me - and remained unaffected by the scepter - I searched your body for the reason. When I didn't find it, I decided to search your mind. It is no simple task, entering someone's mind, but once one has, it becomes much easier to later recognize, and penetrate." He watched her, and paused, but she didn't seem shaken so far. "I have access to all minds, with varying degrees of effort of course. But, after a time, I found myself... drawn to you. I've seen all of your body's slight changes and, when I look for it, I can... sense, the fledgling mind, within."

Her expression softened. She held her head up and her eyes went wide. She felt the color drain from her face. He really wasn't lying. She could see it in his eyes. There was a vulnerability. And a very good reason, she realized, for why he'd brought her here then - one she was sure that she wasn't going to like. Subconsciously she placed a hand on her stomach, and she parted her lips, but she found herself unable to speak. Her voice just wouldn't come, and she sat silently, unable to ask any one of the crucial questions connected to her fate, as they flooded her head with anxiety.

 


	3. Bargaining with Finesse

That was the look he'd been waiting for. While he did thoroughly enjoy bringing an abrupt end to her insubordinate behavior, if he reveled in it for too long, her imagination might get the better of her and she would still attempt to flee. He really did not want to have to restrain her while she came to her senses yet again.  
  
He opened his arms to her and bowed his head graciously. "You have many questions. Ask, and I will answer them as best that I can." Still she was silent, in great shock.  
  
He needed to gain her trust; to keep her from feeling threatened. He did not at all like the things that she tended to do with that mentality. He might accomplish this somewhat, he thought, by explaining his actions. "You were no longer safe amongst your peers. They... would have you _believe_ that they cared for you, for your contentment. Your safety. But what they truly care for is their own. You were right to try to escape them. I only regret that I could not reach you sooner."  
  
She looked away. She'd already realized - and _felt_ \- their betrayal. Suddenly she narrowed her eyes and peered at him resentfully. "But why even bother to bring me here? What do you care if I'm pregnant, far away from you, safe or not?"  
  
Ungrateful little wench, he thought. She should know the _other_ actions he considered taking towards her.  
  
"Do not think that I failed to consider killing you, or irreparably bending your mind to my will. One way or another, your kind would have discovered the child, which can easily be determined from a human one by now, I'm sure." He saw a new spark of fear in her eyes. "If I had simply left you there, the abnormal development would have alarmed them. Surely you would have suffered... at the hands of your own rulers, if nothing else."  
  
"And what if I went into hiding? I have friends who could help me out with this little... problem. They wouldn't turn me in to the government, or even tell anyone about it."  
  
Her futile plays for control never ceased to amuse him. He let out a derisive laugh. "Oh, no. You will not survive this, without me." She stared at him defiantly, but he noticed the very finest blonde hairs on her head just barely start to quake. She felt the need to hide it from him. Combative until the end, he thought.  
  
Her nerves were getting the better of her, causing her to shake, as she instinctively scanned the room for a way out. But she saw what this situation really was... that it wasn't about to be her choice. There was no escaping from her own body. She was helpless once again. Helpless or dead. And it was then that she began to cry. There was no longer any point in concealing her distress. He was going to get whatever it was that he wanted from her, anyway. To him she was so weak.  
  
Her increasingly violent shaking made her double over, and she held her head with one hand with her arm propped up on a knee, in an attempt to stabilize herself. Her other arm was curled around her stomach, and that hand was clenched into a fist.  
  
Loki watched her crumble through squinted eyes, taken aback by the sudden change. He had wanted to keep her from seeing this as imprisonment; to quell her hostility as much as possible. He had saved her from pain and suffering. What more did she desire? Freedom? There was none to be had. But he knew he must try to stop her weakened mind from destroying itself.  
  
He stood up, silently, from his chair. He crossed the room, and gently placed his hand on her heaving back. She sprung upright instantly, and he withdrew the offending hand, but she didn't even look at him. She only continued to tremble, sinking back down a little more with each twitch. She watched her tears form small puddles on the floor. The scar on her temple - the one he had given her - had shown itself, shining from beneath her silky hair just before it fell back down over her eyes. It reminded him of the harsh, lasting effects that he'd most likely had on her psyche. He leaned over and caught her gaze before he raised his hand this time and, very slowly, pushed her hair aside, touching the raised skin beneath.  
  
"Would you like me to make this go away?"  
  
She had trouble admitting it to herself, but she was desperate for any amount of comfort - even if it had to come from _him_. She certainly couldn't expect it from anyone else; not after today...

She mostly regretted her reflexive reactions against him. Her response to being rescued, thus far, was the same as that of a wild animal. As for his question: her preference was always to _not_ be scarred, physically. Mentally... she would have to keep working on that. She nodded very slightly, accepting his offer.  
  
He smiled and nodded kindly. "Then I will. But first, you must stop your shaking. Please... lie down." She looked to where he gestured, at the center of the giant bed, but didn't move. He looked concerned, but then he raised his chin, in defiance of the fear she felt. "You know I will not hurt you."  
  
He was right. Part of her skill set was to analyze behavior... and, even as chaotic as he was, she knew him well enough to see that. However, she couldn't convince her body of this fact. Still shaking, she reluctantly backed away from the edge and eased herself down onto the impossibly-soft fur. He crept around to the other side and sat beside her, very professional in his conduct. He gently placed one hand on her arm and another on her chest. Up close, he smelled of leather. Softly, he commanded "Be still." He looked deep into her eyes until the shaking subsided. Then he focused on his task. He ran his fingers over the scar, studying its every flaw. Then he quickly moved the other hand over it, stopping very close to her skin and holding it there, precisely, while he concentrated. Several minutes later, he removed it and pulled away.  
  
She sat up and touched it immediately, smiling weakly. She moved back to the opposite side of the bed, turning away from him, hanging her legs off the edge. Obsessively, she touched it, with both hands, fascinated. She had her back to him and she stayed that way, rather coldly. But she couldn't stop herself from asking a question. One that had been bothering her incessantly for the better part of a year. "How do you do that?"  
  
As she'd moved he'd followed her, from a respectable distance so as not to appear threatening. But he observed her body language closely and evaluated her reactions to him now.  
  
Hearing his light steps traverse the room towards where she faced again, she stopped and raised her head. He was a little closer than she'd like, but his hands were behind his back. He accepted her frostiness and, though he always looked like he was planning something, he didn't seem particularly malicious.  
  
His expression was still serious, and actually almost... sad. But he hid it gracefully, and with little effort. This told her that he took no pride in his abilities, and was very used to doing so. He proceeded to answer the question. "It is only the surface that I alter. This scar..." he paused and lowered his head "as well as the ones on your back - still exists. They still heal internally. It is similar to the changes in my own appearance that you have seen. A simple matter for myself, and even to apply it to another, for a short time. But if they are willing, and still, I can use much of my energy to change another's appearance for as long as they are alive."  
  
He knew well that the act of kindness - and the discreet admission of one weakness - would win her trust. But her cooperation was another matter entirely, and he wasn't quite sure of that. He gave her a minute to fully appreciate the sentiment. Then, he moved in for the final act.  
  
He approached, and for once this didn't scare her. To her surprise, he dropped to one knee, and bowed his head! Much of his hair fell forward over his face. The shift noticeably changed his smell from leather, to leather and herbs... something a lot like chamomile. He placed a hand on her knee. "You do not have to carry this child." She straightened her back, distancing herself, and peered at him suspiciously despite that his head was down. "But... I would very much like for you to give me... the gift, of an heir."  
  
She blinked in disbelief. "An heir that's half human?" Suddenly she remembered the stories her great-grandmother used to tell her, all based on Norse mythology. Some very strange things had gone down in those stories, and who knew how much of it was based on real events? Then she answered her own rhetorical question. Well... _he_ does. "Is that what it would be?"  
  
He raised he head and answered as objectively as possible. "Yes. Despite my appearance, I am entirely jotun. Over the course of millennia, aesir blood has become... weak. Not in the bodies it produces, but in the combination with that of the few compatible races. Jotun blood is much stronger, and mutates quite easily as well. Had I found a mate in Asgard, our children would almost certainly have been jotun... or possibly something worse. Midgardian blood is also strong. I believe it is very likely that this child..." He paused and put a hand on her still-flat belly, distracting her from his unintended verbiage while he corrected it. "...or rather, the potential child, would be aesir in appearance, yet stronger in composition. I could not ask for a better heir to my throne."  
  
So that really _was_ all he wanted. He removed his hand, instead placing it on the bedspread. Her mind reeled for quite a while. Then she made eye contact with him again, and gave him a look of acknowledgement. But not agreement. He seemed relieved that she was even considering his request. As well he should be! she thought.  
  
Slowly, he stood to full height. He smoothed his hair back into place, and moved a few steps away. He stayed there, waiting, arms folded. His expression was calm and attentive, but his eyes were intense, piercing. He was trying very hard not to show his impatience for her response.  
  
After a few minutes of her pondering, he added something which he thought would surely sway her: "If you choose this, then - when the time is right - I must make you my queen..." He considered whether he should bring up their past, but continued, with a disarming smile. "... just as promised. It is a life of prestige and luxury. No effort would be spared to ensure your comfort. And, of course, we would not want to risk your half-heart faltering under any stress which is not in my control. We would have to restore it first." He stopped on that note, smugly waiting for the question.  
  
"You can do that?"  
  
"Our technology is far more advanced than the... experiments, that your rulers concoct, to save the lives of the wealthy. If I were to have my healers start the process soon, there would be no risk to the child."  
  
Her scientific side was begging her to take this, which it saw as an opportunity. No human had been offered this before. To live on another world, to experience new and impossible things. And to take what she'd learned back, using it to save and improve lives other than her own. She could rent out her body for a while, in exchange for all of that. It was a risk, yes. He was unpredictable. He had a temper, and control issues. But the violence he had given in to before never threatened her life, and he would never hurt his child. She hadn't let him see it, but as soon as she'd been given the option, all of this logic had been fighting her _much_ stronger, angry, bitter and fearful side. The side that was created the day her heart stopped beating.  
  
"Okay."  
  
He made no attempt to hide the most genuine smile she had ever seen him make. Not one of evil conquest - though he did look like he'd won something. He probably thought he'd manipulated her into agreeing to it, she supposed. But he was wrong.


	4. Details

She almost hated to bring an end to that smile. It made him look so kind. But the defining of boundaries was definitely non-optional with him. "I have some stipulations," she said. "These are very important to me, and if you break them, you won't have my cooperation anymore. I may not be able to escape, but I'll fight you..." She narrowed her eyes. "...like never before." She felt like she couldn't stress this enough. Changed, yes, but he was still technically the same person who'd been so unexpectedly violent with her before.  
  
His smile shifted only slightly; his eyebrows moving a little closer together. He was amused by her threats. He didn't even feel the need to put her down for it. His patronizing attitude made her nervous. But then he lifted his eyebrows and head, just a little, indicating to her that he was listening.  
  
She mustered an assertive expression, trying her best to maintain eye contact. "You must never touch me... not without my permission first." She made sure he comprehended, but then she couldn't help but look away. Her gaze drifted to the one large window. Inspired by her urge to leave, she looked back at him more easily. "I have to be free to roam this place, unrestricted. If you think that something I want do is dangerous, just tell me. Don't lock me up. That is not cool." She rolled her eyes slightly, realizing how stupid her colloquial phrase probably sounded to him. But he got the point. Moving on. "And you must never control me! Not even as much as to influence my thoughts, in any way. And I _will_ know if you've done it. You have to let me go at some point, and then I always do."  
  
He waited patiently for her to finish her speech. Then he stood at attention, closed his eyes and put a hand on his chest. "You have my word."  
  
"Good." She relaxed a little, choosing to believe him for now.  
  
Then she remembered a burning question, one which she'd forgotten in the process of this whole supernatural ordeal. She furrowed her brow. "By the way... how is this even _possible_?" She put a hand on her stomach. "I've barely gained weight, and I'm not showing at all. And it's been a year since I've had any physical contact with you, or _any_ man for that matter..."  
  
Sneering slightly at the comparison, he corrected her. "I am not a man. There is no known precedent for this. But from what I can tell, the child is still in the first stages of development. The process takes approximately four and a half years."  
  
"Four..." she breathed, and stared at the wall for a moment. She stood up, then put a hand on the side of her head. He watched, but remained expressionless. She took it off to shake it at him, looking him dead in the eyes now. " _What_? I'm going to be pregnant for four and a half years?"  
  
He regarded her with caution. She looked as if she might faint. Calmly, he said "No. It is only half jotun. It should be closer to two years and three months. But, it has already been one year. I cannot be entirely certain, but if it is precisely half - and that is the way this works - only one year and three months remain."  
  
Sarcasm slipped into her voice. "Oh! Only..." And then back out. "Oh god."  
  
The information was already overwhelming her. But she had not yet heard the half of it. This is disappointing, he thought. She really had no idea of the scope of this bargain. Perhaps the weakness was due to the trauma of her arrival. It would be wise to disclose these things to her gradually, and placate the turmoil as it occurred.  
  
He moved closer, slowly, stopping when he was only a foot away. She didn't notice. She was lost in thought, shaking her head... becoming distraught again. He looked down at her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Urging her to listen, he pressed. "You are _strong_. With such strength, time is irrelevant. And during your stay, I would have you remain more than content. Anything you need you shall have."  
  
She spoke softly, her words hastened by fear. "I just don't know if that will be enough. Even with a new heart... I don't think my body can handle it. The duration, and who knows what else will complicate things..." She paused, and scoffed. "I'm only human."  
  
He spoke as candidly as possible. She seemed to respond to that. "I thought it impossible, what is happening within you now." His eyes began to smile at a thought. "If I hadn't, it would never have occurred at all. It seems it is my fate to find a member of your species to show me how strong they can be without their incessant violence." Then, he lowered his voice and gave her a gently scolding look. "But, once again, you underestimate my power. I can lessen any discomfort that your body endures, and alter any complications. Of this I am quite certain."  
  
Her doubt was beginning to affect him now. But he had not made the decision to ask this of her lightly. It was no small favor to ask, of such a short-lived creature. He recalled all the reasons he had given himself before. The most prominent one... he was very reluctant to share with her. But she was not yet convinced, and relinquishing this weakness would certainly change that. It is necessary, he told himself. Still it felt unnatural, and he couldn't help but look at the floor and speak softly as he started. "I must admit...I had only the desire and reasoning before, that you are a pleasure to the eyes. But, I am truly... fond of you, because though your life has never allowed you the illusion of size and strength, you possess the mental resilience of a warrior. You are like no other mortal I have seen. I would consider it _an honor_ , to care for you here while you create an heir for me. And after, if you so wish, you will be free to leave."  
  
Even though they were laced with flattery, she was pretty sure his words weren't lies. She allowed herself to be reassured by them. Second thoughts were going to happen... of course. Because of the level of _insane_ that this whole thing was! He was watching, to see what impact those words had made on her. So she tried her best to look not-so-jittery. And she must have succeeded, at least a little, because his determined expression softened, and he seemed to be thinking of other things.  
  
She scoffed. "Isn't it just fortunate that I don't drink anymore."  
  
He nodded, and gave her a sly smile. "I may have had something to do with that."  
  
Her fiery green eyes turned to him quickly, though they showed no anger for it... only a sort of curiosity. And the requirements of a mortal gave him an excellent way to change the subject. He had been watching her since very early that morning, and such combat as she had done before was surely quite demanding. "Are you hungry?"  
  
Her brain had shoved that little need down, far below all the more pressing questions of her survival. But now that he mentioned it: "Well, yes..."  
  
He seemed pleased that his assumption was correct. "As am I." He took his hands from her shoulders. But as he turned to leave, he paused, and shook a finger at the air to his right. "If I recall correctly, you must eat three times per day." He turned back. "It is one of many differences between us which, because of appearances, are so easily overlooked. I must ask you to tell me these things. And never be afraid to do so."  
  
This time her smile was real. The more insane, the more fascinating most things were to her. Hence her previous occupation under SHIELD. Her smile faded then. Their betrayal was still fresh in her mind. But she nodded at him. "I will."  
  
He looked at the door. "Regrettably, I cannot yet offer you a seat at the king's table. We must first introduce you, properly. You are an outsider. But I will bring to this room whatever it is that you desire..." He searched his memory for suggestions. But he couldn't bring up any recent instances of seeing the mortals eat - not that he'd have paid much attention. He furrowed his brow at this, then looked to her, puzzled. "... and what might that be?"  
  
Adorable. The mass-murdering sociopath was adorable, in the rare instance that he was dealing with uncertainty. She stifled a laugh. "I'm not picky. Just... some of whatever is being served."  
  
He frowned, unsatisfied with the lack of specification. There were varied and numerous foods being served, every day.  
  
The expression made her lose her battle with the laughter. "Don't worry, I'm sure I'll get lots of strange, specific cravings later on. I'm already freaking nauseated. But when they come, I won't hold back a single one." She was getting very good at concealing her fear of all this...  
  
He was dead serious. "See that you don't. Your nausea has been exacerbated by the primitive contaminants in your food. Both you and the child will do much better here, as he is now better able to tell you what he needs."  
  
Intrigued by the sudden pronoun switch, she decided to poke the bear. "And what makes you think it will be a boy? You can't see it..." Wait. " _Can_ you?"  
  
"No." And he had no desire to delve into the subject any further. Not just yet. So he increased his pace, intent to leave. "I will return shortly." He willed back into place his appearance of Odin, completing the transformation just before he opened the door.  
  
"Wh - " She didn't get the chance to utter a word about any of that. He was gone. She walked over, and flopped down into a chair. What the hell was that.


	5. Dead Men Tell No Tales

'Shortly' was not how she perceived the time it took him to return. Having explored every nook and cranny of the huge room, and stared at the door for a while - somewhat afraid to even touch it - she now stood in front of the door's main wall... marveling at the shelves upon shelves full of books. They were organized so neatly, most notably by language. The choices were Old Norse, English, German, and two more distinct scripts, not likely human. She selected one from the lowest shelf she could easily reach, in a language she knew; German. She opened it. Ah, no. Icelandic. Of course, she mentally berated herself. She replaced it, and reached a little higher, to the English section... where she couldn't quite make out any titles. She carefully pulled down a beautifully-bound, thick one. Roman characters they were, but she was disappointed to see a title that looked Latin: "Codex Regius". Having gone to so much effort for it, though, she opened it anyway. It _was_ in English! But just then the door opened, soundlessly, to her left.

Loki's elaborate disguise strode in, having added a spiked, horned gold helmet to his armor this time. He carried it in one hand and closed the door behind him with the other. Before his hand even left the handle he began to change back, and as the old man's image washed away, the helmet revealed a carafe, a mug, and a bundle of silverware, sitting on top of a very large covered dish. Though she _was_  pretty hungry, she hoped its size wasn't representative of the amount of food that was inside.

As the one-eyed stony expression became Loki's imperious glance, he took the dish to the table by the window and set it down. He acted like it was no big deal, just becoming another person. So she decided to play along... for now. But she'd developed a fairly sound theory for what was really going on.

He moved to the covered window, paused, and swept his hands over the air in front of it. The motion wasn't entirely necessary - none of them were - it was directing his focus, and therefore his energies, making it easier to correctly perform the modification. But he used it as a test, discreetly observing her reaction. She seemed much more willing to accept the elements she could see of what the Midgardians had always called magic. She'd not so much as flinched at his change in appearance this time. But he hadn't expected utter silence from her either. He looked over his shoulder at her. She continued to stand in the same spot, staring, the thick book still in-hand, now closed on her thumb. Something had renewed her fear of him. He decided not to challenge that. Low levels of fear kept her compliant. Fear was what kept her in this room.

He opened the curtains, and the most magnificent golden light beamed in. Curiosity overcame her apprehension, and she moved closer to be able to see out. It was only Asgard's sun, but it was reflecting off the water and all of the gilded palatial surfaces outside. He sat in the chair with the slightly less-glorious view. He motioned to the other one hurriedly, saying "Come."

Eyes captured by the scenery, she carefully continued forward. As she took her seat, he placed the mug and silverware on either side of the platter, poured in an amber-colored liquid, and removed the lid. It held a small portion of just about every kind of home-cooked food she'd ever seen, and a few that she didn't recognize. All steaming hot, yet the contents of the carafe were cold enough to cause condensation. It was all too tempting. It smelled great.

She sniffed the mug. It was obviously apple cider. She didn't hesitate to down the whole thing. Then she put the empty mug down and picked up a spoon, shoving a lot of what she hoped was mashed potatoes into her mouth. They were buttery and delicious, and she traded the spoon for a fork so she could dip a small piece of tender, juicy-looking meat into the next bite.

Loki looked mildly surprised, but also fascinated, by her disregard for etiquette and how quickly she consumed what she liked. He observed and smiled, as she spoke with a mouthful of carrots.

"So um... why don't you look like yourself outside of this room?" Instant change in expression at that. She'd had time to think about it while he was gone. His mistake. Catching him off-guard would make it that much easier to tell if he was lying to her. "You're not really the king of Asgard, are you?"

The searing look he gave her then made her stop mid-bite and slowly, instinctively, move her other hand to a spot on the table that was closer to the knife.

"I removed the previous king, yes. With good reason." Patiently, he poured more cider for her, but his cadence revealed agitation, and contempt. "He ruled the nine realms by means of war. He turned the weaker realms into allies with his lies, the stronger ones into enemies with his attempts to vanquish them. His efforts cost many lives, and placed the whole of Asgard in the path of destruction. I saw no end to the tyranny, and realized that I alone possessed the power to stop him. So, I convinced them that their caged pet jotun was no more, and took his place."

He paused to look up from his thus-far pensive avoidance of her gaze. He was still unsure of the depth of her duplicitous nature; but it would certainly take much more effort to get her to completely trust him. And until then she must be considered a minor threat. "To oppose him is to commit treason. And his witless followers would start a war _here_ instead, if they knew I had usurped the throne. I keep the peace in this way, and the citizens live much better lives... now that their king has finally come to his senses."

She didn't bother to ask what he meant by 'removed'. She didn't want to know.

"So they think you're him. Then... how did 'he' get me here from Earth? What's my part in this masquerade?"

"They believe that you're here to be healed, from the effects of the scepter on your mind. It is a diplomatic gesture. They saw me find you, negotiate to do so with your rulers and bring you here, deathly ill."

She frowned. "But I was being taken into custody by those 'rulers'. What really happened? Am I even going to be able to return?"

There was yet another pang of disappointment, when she asked about returning. He had presumed she would at least _consider_ remaining there. And there was a hope... though he kept it far and removed... of keeping her. A beautiful queen and mother to his children, strong enough to bear them and any opposition to her reign. Never would he accomplish this, though, if she did not find him worthy in some way. She had to be _willing_. He pushed it to the back of his thoughts again. It was but a matter of time.

"I pried you from their grasp. Your people still have no idea of the reason for their attempt to confine you. They had for proof only this." He pulled something from his tunic and set it on the table. It was their flash drive.

She stared for a second. "But... Doctor Talwar already knew, right? That's why he called security. How did you negotiate his silence?"

He made no attempt to hide his evil smirk. "I killed him."

The fork fell onto the platter with a loud clang. She thought for a minute, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. Then she got up from the table and moved towards him on the other side, slowly, purposefully. Her fear, of his evil, gave way. And a fury - fueled by the memories of every good person she knew that he had killed, their suffering, and that of their families - took her over completely. He stood up as she approached, still smirking, head held high. He squinted at her now though, silently judging her actions.

She moved gracefully, all the way up to him, until she was looking up slightly and into his eyes. "You killed him... to keep your secret. Nobody on Earth knows about monsters and their babies. They would've assumed that you were still alive to do _this_..." She put her hand on her stomach. "...and come looking for you. SHIELD, and whoever they enlisted to help. I'm sure a few of the Avengers would love to remove you from power. In as violent a manner as possible."

He was almost laughing. "It was but one mortal. His death was quick and merciful. He did not even scream."

Feigning acceptance, she took a step back and moved past him, towards the door. He was so damn arrogant... he even didn't bother to follow, or turn his head. He really didn't care! She stopped about twelve feet away and turned back. She would _make_ him care.

Suddenly she sprinted forward, gaining just enough momentum, and deftly leapt onto his back, digging her heel into the belt that held his armor on. She held on to it with her arm as well, putting only one hand into his range of movement: the hand that held the knife. She pressed it hard to his throat, and with every speck of darkness in her thoughts, she asked him, "Do _you_ scream?"

He had responded to the touch of the blade by lifting his chin slightly, his smirk fading... a move she took great pleasure in noticing. Then he added a low, derisive chuckle. He raised both hands and took several steps backwards, away from the table, appeasing her. "Am I to understand, then, that I have offended you?"

Angrily, she taunted him. "It's rude to answer a question with another question." She pressed the knife in further the more he moved. By now, with the pressure she was applying, it felt like she should've taken his head off! He didn't react. Instead he stopped and turned his back to the bed. He lowered himself down onto it, slowly, and sat on the edge. Then he grabbed her arm with both hands, effortlessly pulling the knife away from his throat. He arched backwards at an almost impossible angle and slipped out from under it. Once behind, he twisted her arm down and forward, forcing her to bend forward with it, and at the same time pulling the knife-wielding hand behind her back. He ripped the weapon away and skillfully flung it into the far wall, as a single drop of blood fell onto the black silk collar of his tunic.

She wasn't able to bend quite as quickly as her arm was being turned, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but cry out in pain. Her already-injured shoulder felt like it was being torn apart. He laughed again at the pathetic sound she'd failed to hide, placed a hand on her back, and shoved her all the way down onto her stomach. He pressed his body against hers. She writhed violently and tried to free herself, the unwanted touch pushing her fury to new heights.

His voice was dark, melodic and smooth as silk, slipping effortlessly past the rage as he leaned in. "I'm afraid I've not been entirely honest with you, pet." He pressed harder, closer. She could feel the vibrations from his voice on her back as he spoke. "Your healer... he did scream. His mind wailed in _agony_ as I severed it from his body. He begged for a death more swift, even, than the short time during which his brain was unbearably suffering, burning for want of breath. It must have seemed like ages. But he was not in control of that. I was. And I walked away. Without. A. Second. Thought."

Horrified, she stopped struggling. Some of the anger subsided as fear and logic prevailed. He grabbed her shoulders and flipped her over to look into her eyes. He removed the hand that was on the injured one, and put it instead on her chest. "You will _never_ attack me again, little mortal. Is that clear?"

Her jaw remained clenched, and she met his gaze with defiance. She couldn't counter him physically, but she prepared her mind to fight his, if he tried. His stare was deep and relentless. Then suddenly he looked to the side and scoffed... mildly impressed. "You've developed a resistance to your fear of being controlled." She noticed the fingers on her shoulder turning blue, and followed the transformation with wide eyes as it made its way across his whole hand, and a few seconds later his neck, and his face, carving concentric markings into the skin as it went. He gave her a newly lascivious, predatory look. His crimson, sclera-less eyes were still, like those of a wild animal plotting attack. "But you _will_ do as I say, lest I allow my baser instincts to take over. It would be as before... and yet, for you, so much _worse_."

No longer powered by the desire try to hurt him, she became acutely aware of the pain and difficulty breathing caused by his weight on her. She winced, and drew in a sharp breath as she pulled her free arm up to touch his hand. It was cold. And to her surprise, she felt a slight burning, reminiscent of frost bite, increasing the longer she maintained contact. The raised markings close to his wrist felt almost like scars, but they were too perfectly-formed and too soft to be that. Despite the burn, she applied her entire hand to the back of his, and strained just enough to whisper "Loki, please..." before she had to catch her breath again. Her pale skin began to take on the slightest blue tint, and the burn now rivaled that of her lungs.

He continued to stare for a moment. Then, his color and markings began to recede, shrinking from her hand first... noticeably more slowly than it had spread when he was threatening her. The burning stopped.

He let out a soft, growling sigh. He clearly had to force himself to release her. Upon setting foot on the floor, he immediately turned away. She sat up slowly, taking deep breaths, and stayed still, unsure of his next move.

She had heard about the frost giants, thanks to the intel SHIELD had incessantly demanded of Thor as he'd settled in to live with Jane. But Coulson's descriptive skills had not prepared her to confront one that she'd angered - on purpose. Part of her now was surprised at her own outburst. She still felt that she'd had good reason to be angry. But even at the time, she'd known that most likely her only success would be to shut him up for awhile. She also knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that her pregnancy granted her immunity to any real harm. And she _still_ didn't care about the consequences of her actions. To free the beast on him... she smiled. It had just felt so damn good.

When he started to move again, there was no blue left. He walked calmly towards the far wall. Ignoring the knife sticking out from it, he opened a door there, one she hadn't noticed before, because its filigree matched that of the wall so well. He turned his head toward her just slightly, not looking directly, then walked away, leaving it open. He put on his king costume and left, without a word.

The smaller room looked as if it were lit by the sun itself, and she could see a large bowl on a pedestal in the center, and several huge towels stacked on a table. She sat for a good long while, getting her bearings again, and analyzing what had just happened to determine if she could feel safe. Then, curious, she made her way there. The room's outside walls were all white stained glass windows, with skylights above as well. And in the corner was the biggest bathtub she had ever seen in her life. The effect that a hot bath would have on her filthy, aching body was tempting enough to outweigh the unsettling atmosphere from the preceding events, and even though she had no idea when he'd be back, she decided to follow his suggestion.

He didn't return until the next morning. She'd allowed herself some sleep, after fixing the state of the bed. Though she slept soundly, she woke suddenly with the very dark feeling that he was there. Sure enough, he was sitting in one of the chairs, watching her, with his hand curled over his mouth, deep in thought. There was a different covered dish in exactly the spot that the old one had been, and the knife had rejoined the other utensils, as if it had never been a weapon at all.

He snapped out of his haze and looked away. He looked both angry and shameful. Then he spoke, with great passion and importance in his voice. "I know... what it is to be wronged. To be so enraged, that you desire nothing more than to see your oppressor suffer, or come to harm." His green eyes focused intently on hers. "But you must never provoke me... as you did last night. I took measures to ensure your safety as the feral part of me seized my mind. But I fear that it may not always be so easy to resist."

Only her eyes peered out from behind the thick, fluffy blanket that she'd unwittingly wadded up and curled herself around. Still half-asleep, her muffled voice lacked enthusiasm. "Yeah, well... It seems like I've got some demons to deal with as well." She realized the implication and corrected it. "Not that you're a demon." She buried the rest of her face, embarrassed.

Such a nonchalant reaction was very good to see, as he had feared she might run, or at the very least shrink away, after seeing him in that state. "The demon is my natural form. It takes focus to break the spell I was given shortly after birth, intentionally, and reveal it. But a very strong emotion will do so quite easily. I could have kept it from happening of course but... at the time, I wanted you to see it. It is quite the intimidating appearance."

She shoved away the blanket and sat up. "Actually... I'm not sure about the eyes - since they were staring me down and entirely terrifying at the time - but you're jotun skin... it's beautiful."

His face showed the purest state of shock at that statement. She finger-combed the wild, whitish hair out of her face and smiled kindly, to let him know that she was serious. "So what if things _don't_ go as planned, and your heir turns out to look like you?"

His shock turned to dismay in a heartbeat. Tersely, he said "Then I would be revealed."


	6. No Lies

Of course. She hadn't thought of that. He wouldn't be able to hide away the manifest child of a frost giant from the rest of this world forever. And there's only one frost giant who actively travels the universe, has been to Earth, and desires - more than anything else - a throne. But he's not bothered by the idea nearly as much as he should be; not with his personality. Which means he has a plan. She looked down, preparing  herself for some of the worst answers she could think of. "And what would you do then?"

He answered a little too quickly. "In the unlikely event," he made sure to emphasize that part, "I would be forced to place a permanent spell on him to change his wont appearance, very similar in nature to the one that I was given."

"But... before, you said that just to change a scar took most of your energy. And it takes time. What if you weren't able to permanently affect an entire body?"

He raised an eyebrow. He did not like her questioning him, in any way. This was precisely why he'd chosen to share only a select few weaknesses with her. "I am certain that I could. I have the skill, but I currently lack the power to use it to its full potential. I would simply need to draw it from another source."

"Another source... of power..." A dark sense of dread weighed her down, and took her breath away before she could finish. She reasoned herself out of it. No... no! No way he's that desperate. And stupid. Just, no.

He stated, "I would need to call upon the power of the Tesseract."

She said it out loud now. "No!" - though it carried only half of the vehemence that was in her head. "What... why would you even _consider_ that? The Tesseract..."

Angrily, she gestured with both hands, as if it were sitting in front of her on the bed. "The object that inspired an unprovoked attack on Earth." She shook her finger at him. "The one that both Selvig _and Barton_ , said 'showed them things'. So that they could better betray every loyalty that they had -" She motioned towards him. "- and help _you_ to accomplish that!" Her hands sliced through the air around the imaginary cube. "Evil, incarnate." She noticed that he'd been just sitting there, watching her wave her arms around, with the same slightly-agitated expression as before. So she dropped her arms. "You _can't_."

He lowered his brow and glared, a clear warning. Impatiently, he said "I _would_. Understand now, pet, that I know what is best. I cannot have such an heir. If that were to come to pass, I would indeed use it, and control it well. I know the Tesseract better than anyone. Its effects would not pass, through me, to our child."

"But even if they didn't - even if it stopped at you - where would your loyalties lie then? Would you control me, when - in your opinion - I misbehaved?" She lowered her head and sneered. "It would certainly make things easier for you. Imprison me? Kill me? Kill your child? Because you came very close to doing _all_ of that before..."

He snapped at her. "I know it well enough! You need not question my knowledge and expertise in this, a subject about which _you_ have a negligible amount of knowledge..."

"But you _lie_ ," she interrupted him, through gritted teeth. "You're 'the king'... of liars. You're just saying things to shut me up so you can do what you want! Why should I believe that, in that same state of mind, you would care more for us than for your throne? Under its influence you would do anything to keep it. Give me a very good reason. Or I will seriously reconsider placing my trust with you for a year and three freaking months."

Instantly he realized the root of the problem. _Of course_ she would see that. She still sees me as I was, he thought: crazed by the desire to rule; driven by my 'purpose'. Even so... "Not once, have I ever lied to you."

She scoffed. Then, in fairness, she considered it. She pored over every word they had ever exchanged - and tried not to fall into the pit of emotions that surrounded them. It was so easy to do. And that fact had always frightened her... If his scepter could change her sense of morality so completely - and burn the thought-patterns it formed so deeply that it even after her release it made her question who she really was - then what could its sibling the Tesseract do to a child?

One of the first things he'd ever said to her was a good example, and she threw it back at him like a sack of bricks. "Do you recall telling me that you would set me free, and then changing your mind, because I might be 'of further use'?"

He was somewhat surprised at her choice of instances to cite. But, if he needed to explain... "The agent whom I bargained with, was not the girl who chose to stay. At the time of that decision you had no desire to leave, nor to fight me. You were more than cooperative - you shared my perspective. You were happy."

She looked away. She didn't like to remember how she _felt_ back then. Thinking as if she were a mindless drone during that time was the only way she'd managed to stay sane. But she had to remember it now. She remembered her extreme, scattered feelings towards him and his war. Remembered refusing to leave when Sumner tried to rescue her. She'd mostly forgiven herself for his death, and even come to blame him for her struggles with the effects of the scepter later on. A seasoned soldier should have been able to judge his enemy better. And because of the failure, she'd received a double-dose of brainwashing. She cringed, her mind once again taking hold of those entrenched emotions, and running with them. The fear, the devotion, the internalization of his darkness and violence...

Loki let her think about what he had said, all the way up until her face began to betray an inner pain. He had promised not to touch her, body or mind. He only saw the things which occurred in so much strength that they overflowed from her. It was difficult not to. However, once he saw what it was that bothered her so, he recognized it instantly. It had tormented him as well. But it had only made him stronger. He had doubted that a mortal mind could perceive it well enough to know what to do with it. In order to save their simple collective psyche from the effects of such a drastic change, they would undoubtedly always revert to their precious, self-titled 'humanity'.

He got up from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of her. She stared into the unknown, but he knew that she was still listening. With a firm tone of voice, he said, " _Trust me_. Not because I don't lie to you, but because I know your conflict. My dealings with the Tesseract were... more involved. But I have mastered it. If I ever need to use its power, I can. But only I. This is why I choose to keep it here, and sent away the Aether, instead."

She was not surprised to hear that the Tesseract was still in Asgard. Somehow she'd known, ever since she'd woken up on that bed. She could feel it; an ever-so-slight aura of something more powerful than anything or anybody else there. But the moment he'd identified the feeling, she'd snapped free of her trance. And he was right. She _had_ been happy in that mindset. Much happier than she was now. But it wasn't really her... was it? She looked directly from the nothingness to him. She didn't sense that evil in him anymore - or if she did, it wasn't anything that disturbed her enough to draw her attention to it. The fire in his eyes was dominating, but when she forced herself to face it anyway, he seemed to... show her the way out. The darkness was not to be defeated. It was to be harnessed, and used.

She tightly shut her eyes. "I can see it. How... What is it? It's not just the Tesseract. It's not power, or intelligence, it's something more. I want to be afraid of it; it's so... intense. But lately I've come to realize that it's a part of me too, wherever I go. And it gives me strength. Loki..." She shook her head slightly and focused on him again. "...what is it?"

He didn't answer for a couple of minutes. He seemed confused. But suddenly all that changed, to a wide-eyed expression of astonishment. He looked at her as if she had suddenly just burst into flames. Then he let out a short sigh of disbelief, and smiled a wide, beaming smile. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them and looked at her again, they gleamed with joy. Then he lowered his voice and said with an unexpected passion, "That... is what you trust."

She mirrored his smile, then realized what she was doing and shifted to one much more modest, more her own. She looked toward the window and decided to put an end to this cryptic, mushy moment. She said casually, "So. What's on the agenda for today, Your Majesty?"

He had to break himself free from the stare. Then he stood up, and followed her gaze to the window. He had trouble refocusing, but he knew that he must. For whatever cause... she was different. But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away - especially now - and for the very same reason. The time will come to address this, he told himself. Focus now on what needs to be done to ensure everyone's safety. He opened the curtains and a pure, bright white light flooded the room.

"Is it almost mid-day?"

"It is. You needed to rest, pet." He made his way to the washroom and peered inside. "I'm very glad to see that you were able to make yourself comfortable."

"I'm nothing if not adaptable. And... it's hard not to be comfortable, in a place like this."

He motioned toward the table. "I have brought you breakfast. I trust it will be to your liking, based on what little I have seen you enjoy. Please, eat."

She nodded - hungry, though she wasn't sure if she could eat right now - and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to get up. But when she used her arms to turn herself, her shoulder reminded her of its continued state of disrepair. Ignoring pain was a habit of hers, especially when there were more important things to be dealt with... as in every single event since yesterday afternoon. But now she finally took a moment to look at it, and decided to put the stupid thing back into place. She put it out to her side, lifted her forearm, and pulled it up high. But it had been too long since the injury, as she'd feared. She drew a sharp breath when the flood of pain hit her from the failed attempt.

Amazingly, from the other side of the huge room, Loki heard the quiet gasp. He turned around quickly to see her digging her nails into her own flesh in pain and frustration. He rushed over and proceeded to grab the offending body part, but his hands stopped about an inch short. He looked to one side and opened his mouth, but he still had to think of what to say before making eye contact again. "May I?"

She raised an eyebrow. People had tried to help her with this sort of thing before, and they'd only made it worse. And from what she knew, it took Thor or the Hulk to damage _him_ to the point of pain. And even then, his injuries didn't last. Does he even know what's wrong with it? She eyed him. "What are you going to do?"

"There are torn muscles, and a joint which is no longer aligned. I can correct it. Though... I suspect there will be some pain."

"Well alright then." She laughed a little. "How you are so familiar with mortal physiology is beyond me. But go for it. I can handle the pain."

He put both hands on her shoulder, one on top and one on the side. And after a few seconds, she could feel every muscle he touched relaxing, becoming soft, beyond what seemed normal for muscles to be able to do. Then his eyes squeezed shut, and a few of them began to tense. It caused more and more pain as the shoulder moved, but she didn't make a sound or even wince, afraid to distract him from it. Then the pain abruptly stopped. All of it. He opened his eyes and focused on his fingers, trailing them from her neck to her elbow. Satisfied with his work, he stopped.

He squinted, and touched her left cheek, heavily bruised and scraped from the fall. He said solemnly, "I'm sorry I could not stop them from harming you. Despite our similarities, mortals can sometimes prove difficult to predict. Furthermore, though I would offer it to you, I cannot heal every wound. Your body must heal them on its own, in order for it to remain strong."

She held her head up high, feigning indignity. "You forget, sir, that I am a biologist." Then she smiled. "I understand. And, thank you."

Letting his hand fall slowly from her face, he stepped backwards, and began to turn towards the door, but stopped. "Do you trust me, Miss -" He searched his memory. "What is your first name, Miss Iversen?" He put forth a particularly charming grin. "I assume that it's not Agent."

I suppose he's never heard it, she thought. Ever since earning the title of Agent, few had. "Sara."

He hummed it back to her, in his smoothest baritone voice. "Sara..." as he moved to be close to her again. "Do you trust me, Sara?"

She had never mourned the loss of the use of her plain, common name. "Agent" had suited her just fine. But as of just then, she loved it. He made her want to hear it again and again. His voice was a spell in itself. The question! she snapped. Answer it, you sappy twit. "Um... yes. For the most part." She tried to hide her sheepish smile.

Of course you do, he mused. For all your uniqueness, you are still a member of the most naive, forgiving race of mortals in the nine realms. He lowered his head. "Good. Then, might I ask your help with something? One final, small favor. A task to which you are particularly suited."

"Anything."

He tilted his head at her, and gently tucked away a few strands of silvery hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Thank you," he said, and he quickly placed his entire palm on her soft, pale forehead.


	7. Return

Slowly, she blinked, until her eyes would open. What she saw was a gilded ceiling - the one of the room she was in. Groggy, she moved her hands, and felt the softness of the white fur blanket as well. She was on her back in the middle of the bed. As quickly as her body would allow she turned to her head to the right, and saw someone seated next to her. Odin, again. She propped herself up on her elbows. "What the hell..." She didn't even have an end in mind for that question.

Odin watched her with a clearly annoyed expression. "You fainted. In the midst of _questioning_ my reasons for bringing you here. Please do not panic again. Stay calm, and rise slowly."

She blinked some more. "Loki?"

He scowled at her and raised his voice. "Loki!" Then he turned away slightly. His expression became morose. "My second son is dead."

She tried to think of some way to explain why she'd caused the king such sudden, emotional distress. But the details of what her stupid brain had convinced her was her last twenty-four hours of existence were quickly fading away. Damn. "I... I'm sorry. I had a dream. A really vivid dream..."

He raised the eyebrow not partially-covered by his golden eyepatch. "This complaint is not uncommon amongst the lesser beings which occasionally travel the Bifrost."

She didn't even have the capacity to feel insulted. She was busy trying to analyze the details; figure out how and why that bastard was still invading her nightmares, after all this time. Well, she remembered, she _had_ just been told she had some condition having to do with the scepter. That high-quality brand of damage done only by Loki's hand. But as she considered that logic, the last of those memories slipped away, out-of-reach, unnoticed.

Having exhausted his patience for mortals this day, he stood up, and made no more effort to keep from being short with her. "We have been here far too long. It is highly unusual for a mortal to be brought to Asgard, even more so to the king's hall, and without explanation. The rumors spread further as we speak. You _must_ come with me now. I will make clear the reason for your presence so that you will not be troubled while you heal... in _your own_ chambers, which by now are most certainly ready."

All of a sudden she felt like a huge burden. Useless. Her mind was scrambled. She shook her head in a futile attempt to clear it. "Thank you. But... Was there no one else who could have negotiated my release? Why you, the king himself?"

He paused his impatient movements towards the door and turned an ear to her. "I cannot trust any other at this moment. Your people, though allies, are looked down upon by many. It would not have been appropriate for anyone else to have made such an attempt. Now, if you are quite finished with this inquisition, we must go."

She did as he said, getting up slowly, unsure of what had caused her to faint in the first place. Probably some damage from the fall, or the drug Dr. Talwar had given her. She touched her cheek. It hurt, but there was no blood. And her shoulder felt much better. Apparently she'd been patched up while she was out. Her SHIELD uniform was dirty, and her knees had bled through it just a bit - though, being black, the fabric hid it well. She might not have noticed it herself, if it weren't for the pain and the fact that it stuck to her skin. Her hair was almost completely free of its tie, falling in random places across her head. She looked like she'd been through hell...but she didn't want to agitate his kinglyness any further. So she stood, and followed him out of the room, speeding up gradually to keep up with his haste.

They traveled so quickly through the glorious Hall of Asgard that she hardly had time to turn her head to admire anything. But she kept up, and obeyed without question when he motioned her into to a throne room even more godly-looking than she'd imagined. There was already a small crowd of well-dressed people collected there, two rows of well-armored, stoic guards separating them from the path leading up to the excessively-large, golden throne. At the top of several layers of steps it gleamed, empty... or so she thought, until she saw something move slightly on one of the arms of its wide, wing-shaped back. A raven fluffed its feathers, shifted, and turned its head to follow Odin's approach. Several feet away, on the other side, sat a second one. Their behavior suggested they were domestic, and quite intelligent as well. He ascended the steps steadily, with the pace of a very old man who didn't at all want to appear very old. Once he was seated he raised his arm, and without hesitation the restless raven flew and landed gracefully upon it.

There had been whispers amongst the crowd when she'd followed him in, but by the time the king was seated they had all - noticeably - stopped. It made her unbearably nervous. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. But it didn't feel right just standing in the middle of the floor where nobody else was. She was much closer to the throne than the crowd of people, so she moved toward the bottom of its steps, where several more guards were posted more sporadically. But suddenly she was stopped by a firm, gold-plated hand on her shoulder. She flinched and whipped around to see a single guard, as imposingly-clad as the others, but with a slightly less-murderous expression on his face. He looked down at her with only his eyes and whispered in the nearly-silent hall.

"Milady. His Highness wishes you to stay here with me, until you are called forth. Then - and only then - will you approach the throne. I would advise you not to speak unless directly spoken to..." As she stared at him, wide-eyed, his expression softened slightly and he gave her a stony-faced wink. "However. Here you are the sole representative of your people. It would be unreasonable to expect you to obey every one of our customs so flawlessly at this time." She tried not to show the entire, overwhelming amount of relief she felt at that statement. He leaned in slightly and lowered his whisper to where it was barely even audible. "You should see how the giants behave at times in this very hall." He gave her a sincere, subtle nod. She suppressed a laugh as he returned to his stately pose.

The king had several other matters to attend to, apparently, before it was her turn. One by one, from the crowd or the main doors, there approached war-generals, commoners, and scientists - whom she could hardly identify as sharing even the broadest definition of her field of study. The only indication was the occasional shared term, like 'study' or 'findings'. She was losing interest in all this pomp and circumstance, and allowed her mind to wander. She jumped when Odin bellowed her name. "Ms. Iversen." She snapped her head up to face him and he motioned for her to come forth. She did, and she stopped a few feet from his side when he held up his hand. Instinctively she turned towards the crowd, but she was sure she didn't look at all confident under their cold, analytical stares.

"For those who have heard, there is indeed a mortal living among us. This, is Agent Iversen. The one who was abducted by Loki, in his misguided quest to rule the realm of Midgard. She continues to suffer the effects of his weapon, the scepter... an artifact which we still have yet to locate." He shot one particular group of soldiers a look of disappointment. Their leader lowered his head. "She will stay here until such time as she is healed. To help her with this change is to help your king in his efforts to maintain the peace between our worlds. Therefore, I hereby declare her an honorary citizen of Asgard, and all will treat her as such. Any disputes regarding this are brought directly to me or my advisers."

When he stopped speaking, she turned to look at him. He waved her away, and nodded to her guard. The guard positioned himself with one leg on the bottom step and offered her his hand as she descended, a little shaky. His unwavering confidence inspired her to steady herself. As they passed between the first guards in the rows, they all shifted slightly, simultaneously. With a collective double-clang of metal-on-metal each one now held his spear behind his shield, and had a fist to his chest, still staring, expressionlessly, straight ahead. She got the impression that it was more in acknowledgement of Odin's order, than of her. She was most definitely nobody's royalty.

The guard led her back to the spot they had started from, a few feet from the end of the row on the right side. As they stopped, Odin commanded "Next."

Just then a single, sword-wielding guard came running into the hall, stopping short of the bottom of the steps. "My Liege," he panted. "Prince Loki is alive." Every guard in the hall shifted and placed two hands on his spear, standing at the ready for the potential threat of him. "He has returned from Svartalfheim, and requests an immediate audience."

Sara turned to her guard with a look of fear in her eyes, and whispered something to him. But his helm made it difficult to hear such a quiet voice. He bent slightly, to hear her say again, "Loki?!"

He responded calmly, in a tone which shared her surprise but not her fear. There was no reason for anyone to fear, not even her. "Yes. After all this time, the former prince returns!" He looked around. "...a sight I wish to see for myself. But I must go. Stay here. You may return to your chambers the moment the king leaves this room. Or explore the city. You are now free to do so." He smiled reassuringly. Then he turned to leave.

She grabbed his arm and attempted to hold him in place for a moment, with both hands. Out of habit he tore free of her grip, but turned back to see why she had done this.

Her eyes never left the main door through which the messenger had come. "Please don't leave," she whispered.

He turned his head back towards the other doors and considered ignoring her pleas. Few things were more important than this for Prince Thor to know took place. But he couldn't himself imagine what it must be like for such a small, weak thing to be here, amongst only strangers - aesir no less - and afraid of the presence of one which had them _all_ on edge. He would take a few seconds to calm her worries.

"Listen to me. Before you stands, in its entirety, the king's guard. It is by far the most formidable force in Asgard. I assure you that they will allow no harm come to you - not while Odin's orders still echo in their helms. You need not fear the presence of any Asgardian. You are under His Highness' protection. Now, I must go." Before she could argue, he left. He knew she would be well. Whether she chose to believe this herself, however, was her decision to make.

During this time Odin rose from his throne, slowly, silently, in disbelief. Then he simply said, "Send him in."


	8. The Performance of a Lifetime

The uneasy guard acknowledged, with the apparent Asgardian salute of fist-to-chest, and left the same way he'd come in. This confirmed her suspicions of Loki's current location. She took a few subtle steps backwards, putting more distance between her and the path he would be taking to the throne. If she hadn't been told directly to stay here, she'd be halfway down the hall already, she thought.

Before she could get as far back as she'd planned, the huge doors opened. She stopped moving, and just hoped he wouldn't notice her where she was. From the perspective of the door, she was currently obscured by the crowd, but there was a very wide space between the crowd and the guards. So she wouldn't be for long.

The hall was deathly silent, and soon she heard light, steady steps - getting closer. One foot shuffled and the next one came down hard on the stone floor to compensate, which made her jump. Then he appeared. His boots were broken and worn, and one even had a hole in its side, exposing part of a threadbare sock whenever the leather bent. He had no weapons, no overcoat and only the most basic of his armor remained. Every piece of black leather still on him looked as if it had been sand-blasted, to the point of rips and cracks. His face - though it wore a dignified expression - was sweaty, dirty and lightly bruised. There were grey bags under his weary, reddened eyes, but she only looked at them for a second, afraid that it would draw his attention. Suddenly he fell forward, almost to the floor, and gritted his teeth in pain. But he caught himself quickly, gracefully, and continued on as if nothing had happened. She almost felt sorry for him; he'd obviously been through a lot. Almost.

Odin remained still, observing his approach, still seemingly assessing this unforeseen turn of events. She looked to him with her eyes only, afraid to move her head. She was waiting for any reaction from the king... along with everyone else there. Then she heard Loki pause. Her eyes darted back again to see him lift his head up straight, with a blank stare... searching for something that wasn't immediately visible. Then, slowly, he turned to look directly at her. His movements failed to hide his exhaustion, but still he grinned and looked her up and down.

"Hello there, pet!" He took a few careful steps towards her. She froze. She wouldn't allow herself to run in front of these people. She felt somewhat protected, thanks to the words of that guard before he'd left. But Loki was not intercepted, and walked right up to her! In a panic she looked around, expecting _someone_ to stop him first. But he was even able to gently lift her hand, and kiss it. "Our bond conquers the vastness of space and time itself," he said with a smooth hint of surprise. She ripped her hand out of his, held it close and backed away, as if his words were literally poison. "Don't touch me!" she unwittingly shrieked.

Loki looked hurt, straightening up and holding his hands out palms-up. "Come now, Sara. I assure you, I'm not the -"

"No! I'm here _because_ _of you_. Stay away from me, you evil... fucking monster!" She stepped back quickly, fearing that her words had now put her in mortal danger, and positioned herself behind the last guard in the line, ready to run again.

Odin looked at her with pity, but projected his voice forcefully all the same. "Sara Iversen. Your history with my son notwithstanding, I command you to cease this outburst at once, and reassume your place."

She glanced at him then back at Loki, who elegantly dipped away, moving back to the center of the path. Shaking, she returned to her original spot, though just a bit closer to that guard.

"Come, Loki," he ordered. Loki broke away from his bemused stare and continued his approach. He stopped at the first step and looked up at the king.

Once Loki had turned his back to her, she was able to relax enough to observe them both... in amazement. Odin's frown betrayed a softer side, and she thought she noticed his eye glisten just a bit before he spoke. "I can hardly believe my eyes. Welcome home, my son."

Sincerely, Loki said "It is very good to have made it home, Father."

"My most loyal scout reported to me that he had found your remains..." he paused, and she suspected that his puzzled look helped to conceal a plethora of emotions, behind that weathered face.

Loki took the opportunity to explain. He smiled and said frankly, "Father, I'm sure you know that I've no lack of enemies in Asgard." Then he cast his eyes down, recollecting the events. "I did go to Svartalfheim, and there, despite my best efforts, I fell in battle. I myself believed that I was dead. And when I revived, I was alone. I was scarcely able to shelter myself from the elements while attempting to heal such wounds." Then he raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. "Reporting my death _would_ be an excellent way to ensure that fate, if one had arrived afterward. Tell me, does that scout still serve you?"

Odin turned his head and thought for a moment, then looked back and spoke sharply. "No. He deserted his post several months ago, never to be seen again."

His voice was edged with ever-so-slight sarcasm. "Mm. How suspicious. Well, if this is the case, he nearly succeeded. It is in spite of all odds that I have survived. I needed the time to heal and gather sufficient strength as well - in order to return by my own means." He lowered his head for a moment, then spoke more softly... more openly. "I have changed, Father. My time in suffering forced me to see the truth. I wanted nothing more than to live. To return and serve Asgard, in the hopes of earning some forgiveness for my past transgressions. It was my greatest hope." He took a knee, hung his head completely, and put a hand to his chest. "I will not ask for your forgiveness. Only for your mercy in judgement. I am more than ready to accept any decision you may make, with neither fight nor question." And he stayed that way, statuesque, waiting to hear his fate.

The king looked down upon him, and suddenly he laughed. He opened his arms to the crowd. "If there was any doubt in the minds of those present that you were indeed my Loki, your silver tongue has removed it."

Sara looked frantically from one to the other. She couldn't believe what was happening! A sense of outrage swelled within her, and she stepped into the pathway. "I'm sorry, 'silver tongue'? It's called acting! He's manipulating you." She turned to the people. "...all of you! How do you think he kept me there with him, long enough for him to use the scepter on me, _twice_? It was his tricks! I'd have escaped, killed myself, or killed myself in an _attempt_ to escape before just... allowing him to _torture_ me for information. I'm an agent! It's what we do!"

Odin tapped Gungnir on the floor, and a shock wave originating from the point of contact reverberated into the hall. Loki immediately looked back at her but stayed in his position, and nobody else there budged, except for the single human. The force shoved her violently forward. She would have fallen, if the guard she'd used as a shield before hadn't lunged forward and put his arm in the way. He held her upright with both hands then, and made eye contact briefly to be assured that she would stay that way. Then swiftly he returned to his position. "Miss Iversen!" Odin boomed. "If you cannot compose yourself, I will have you forcibly removed from this hall."

Livid, but not wanting to show it to either entity behind her, she refused to face them again. But she glared from under her brow at every citizen who was looking at her, as she reluctantly returned to her place... a little further from that guard this time. He'd obviously expected her to fall, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to catch her. But he'd let it happen anyway. Humiliating. It reminded her of her treatment at the hands of the guards at SHIELD.

Odin turned back to his throne and sat regally upon it once more, holding his spear at the edge, and directing his attention back to Loki. "I do not take lightly your crimes against the realms, and under normal circumstances your time in the dungeons would prove insufficient, in the eyes of the law." Loki closed his eyes and hung his head again, his thick, wavy hair falling over his face.

"However... the undeniable fact is that you have given your life for Asgard. The debt that Asgard owes for your part in its victory over Svartalfheim - and therefore the safety of the nine - weighs heavily upon the scale of justice." He considered what it was that he was about to say, then finally he raised his voice to make a decree: "I reinstate your citizenship, your place in this hall, and in what remains of this family." He lifted his palm upwards and smiled just ever-so-slightly. "Rise, Loki of Asgard. Your mother would be proud."

He did as commanded, with a barely discernible amount of difficulty, and smiled wholeheartedly at his king, and then the crowd. As he turned to them they clapped, and it gradually ascended into a cheer.

Sara stared, and whispered. "You can't..." Then she panicked. "You can't keep me here with him! I don't care how sick I am... he'll _kill_ me! Send me back! I'm safer on Midgard."

The cheering stopped, and Odin looked furious. With no further warning he snapped, "Guards!"

Before he'd even finished the word, the guard next to her reached for her shoulder. But she instantly dodged his hand. She backed away slowly, eyes darting from him to the king and back. She put her hands up at a low level, saying, "Wait... " But Odin didn't respond. And now there were more guards were coming to life to execute the standing order.

They were beyond the point of negotiation, apparently. And although they were exponentially stronger - like all Asgardians - she'd already noticed that none of the guards moved very quickly in their flashy full-plate armor. Ad so, she bolted. She ran towards the doors through which she had entered with him. Perhaps they were guarded as well... but at least she knew where they led. The larger set, not so much.

Suddenly a spear blocked her path. Its owner must have expected her to respect the indication to stop, which was almost laughable, she thought, as she ducked under it with ease and kept running. But the move did slow her down just a bit, and three more appeared, in front and on either side. She turned back, prepared to get out any way she could, only to find herself surrounded. Five in total. There was no escaping that. But she knew they wouldn't kill her, either. And she was not going peacefully to wherever they took the people that Odin ordered 'removed'.

She continued to turn, searching her training for options, ready to combat the first one to get close. But of course he was too fast. It didn't seem possible, given that their armor made it so easy to hear every movement, but before she knew it he'd crossed the eight feet between them and grabbed both of her upper arms from behind. All the other guards pointed their spears at her for good measure, as one approached with some sort of handcuffs. Not about to let _that_ go down, she used her captor's vice-like hold to kick off of the attacker's chest, and hopefully surprise and knock back the other well enough to wrench her arms free. But he barely missed a step, and the grip tightened. It was beginning to cause significant pain. She struggled against it anyway.

All the spears moved closer. They were now just inches from her ribs, chest and neck. She found herself standing still, and lifted her chin away from that last one. Then she felt her arms being pushed forward. The cuffs made a light click sound, and then the spears withdrew. She looked down to see parts of them spinning, tightening around her wrists. When they stopped they were perfectly fitted to her skin. The arresting guard placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from the doors, a look of impatient agitation breaking through the stern expression that they all wore. She stumbled with him. Two of them now stood in front of both Loki and the king, spears sideways in a blocking motion, leaving two behind to force her to follow her captor, as he let go. They marched her towards an exit on the other side. "No," she begged. "No, please. I'm sorry. I'll do as you say. I'll keep quiet!" Odin only gave her a disdainful look as she passed.

Loki smirked. He knew exactly where she was going.

Seeing Loki's reaction, she began to yell. "Where are you taking me? Please! Don't lock me up... I'm... I'm not..." her words became quieter and then cut off completely, as she began to have trouble breathing. She was trying her best not to panic. But all she could think about was Loki's chains. His remorseless expression. His assault. Her heart pounded, and it felt like she wasn't getting enough air. She slowed her walk almost to a stop, trying to figure out why she was suffocating. An armored hand slapped onto her right shoulder and shoved it forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guard to her left raise his weapon up to her neck. One of them impassively warned, "Keep moving.". So she kept their pace, despite the increasing tightness in her chest. But shortly after the doors closed behind them, it all caught up to her. She was dizzy, and slowed again. The responding shove sent her to her knees. At that point she no longer cared what happened to her. Nothing could be worse than being locked in a cell somewhere, in the same place that Loki roamed free, and could find her... She hung her head, and ignored the spear that was gradually pressing harder and deeper into her delicate flesh.

The leading guard turned to see what the problem was, observed for a minute that the usual methods of coercion were not working, then crouched down to her level. In a deep voice, he ordered "Look at me." Still breathing somehow, she managed to raise her head enough to see him. It was the guard who'd caught her fall. He glanced around as he spoke, shared a knowing look with the other two, and scowled.

"You fear Loki, yes?" She dropped her head again and heaved, her eyes wide with panic. Then he said "Where you are going - and you _are_ going there - is secure. No being, not even he, can get into or out of the dungeons."

She wheezed between breaths. "Dungeons?"

He grabbed her chin, lifted her head up again, and looked into her eyes. "Calm your breathing, and do not resist us further." He put his other hand on his chest, and made his own breaths visible. He was directing her to follow his example. It was incredibly difficult, and it made her feel like she might die, but she did it anyway. After a few tense moments, he waved away the spear-wielder and pulled her up by her arm. He reiterated urgently, "Do _not_ resist." She felt a drop of blood run down from the sting in her neck. That was a very sharp weapon. She was once again led forward. And she cooperated with the slightly-more-sympathetic guard, for the rest of the long, horrible trip there.


	9. Capture the Pawn

Loki knew he wouldn't be expected to stay in the throne room until Odin finished his kingly business. Not when he was in such a pitiful state. So when the chance arose he excused himself, and made his way to the guest chambers. He assumed that his had been repurposed, since he'd been dead and all. He selected one and went inside to clean himself up a bit. Then he paid a visit to the tailors, to have new clothes made. To his surprise, they remembered the prince's measurements and preferences. He thanked them, left them to their work and returned to the chamber, having one true goal in mind: he must regain his power as soon as possible. He had lost most of his energies in that ordeal, which left him feeling weakened, drained, incomplete. He reclined on the bed, resting his body until the time was right. Then he settled on the floor, and entered a deep meditation. It would take several hours to get to the point where he felt comfortable again.

It took even longer than he'd expected. He'd pushed himself too far this time, he thought through the hazy calm. Draining oneself of power was like starving to the point of a shrunken stomach; it was painful, and exponentially more difficult to replenish from that state. Yet not impossible. Taking the time now would mean much less worry and effort later. He focused completely, certain that there were no enemies around to whom he was giving the element of surprise. He absorbed all that he could, as quickly as he could, until he had regained enough strength to both function comfortably, and complete the arduous task ahead. He came back to this world with a sigh. Difficult it was... but he loved it so. This game was the best of all.

He retrieved his new clothing feeling re-energized, and laid the charm on extra-thick with each encounter. Word would spread that he had indeed changed for the better. Gossip was a powerful tool. He changed, and went to make Odin give the orders to release his little mortal.

She sat in an empty white room, contemplating her near and far futures. But all of those prospects were depressing. So, she shifted to going over combat moves. She'd bested Loki a few times, however briefly. And he seemed considerably more powerful than everyone she'd met thus far. Except for Odin... and understandably so. She decided that if she kept her skills fresh, she had half a chance of escaping Loki once he found her again, and a damn decent chance of holding her own one-on-one with a guard if the next time someone sicked one on her. As the hours passed, she could no longer fight the monotony, and settled for pacing the cell, looking through the shimmering gold lines that she'd learned earlier were a powerful force field. One which was apparently quite painful, as she'd watched a particularly scary-looking individual howl whilst trying to force his hand through it. She figured that was about five hours ago.

She was getting very hungry and wondering if they would remember that she needed to eat at all, when a guard approached her cell. He smiled a little and said "His Majesty King Odin has ordered your release. I will show you to your chambers."

He went to the narrower side of the cell and touched something on the stone wall. The force field faded away. Immediately she started towards him, which had him putting a hand on his sword. But to his surprise, she went right past him, in the direction of the only exit. She stopped suddenly and looked all around, then back at him. She opened her arms and demanded impatiently, "Get me out of here then."

He nodded curtly, and they walked at a brisk pace down several dark, stony corridors, across walkways of ridiculous height, and into the Hall of Asgard again. The halls glowed brightly, reflecting the setting sun through the giant frosted glass windows they passed every now and then. A stark contrast from the fire-lit corridors and the pit of doom surrounding the very aptly-named 'dungeons'. Her eyes had to adjust to the light, but she could hear and follow his footsteps in the almost-silent hallway until that happened.

From down another hallway she heard another guard approaching as well. When he was about twenty feet away he stopped, and motioned subtly with one hand for her guard to come to him. He turned to her and instructed her to stay there, then joined him, and they whispered about something that seemed to be an urgent matter. Her guard hurried back and pointed. "Do you see that large pillar at the end of this hall?" She looked, then raised an eyebrow at him and pressed her lips together. She wasn't blind. "Go there and turn right, then three halls down, turn left. Yours is the one with the open door, and you will find all amenities inside as well. If you need anything else, you have only to find one of us and ask. We are never far." They both left in the direction she had come from, in a hurry.

She followed his instructions. Everything in this place is decadent, and huge, she thought. The 'large pillar' was at least fifteen feet across, and made of some kind of ornately-carved yellow stone. She turned away from it and started down the dimmer hallway, getting further from the windows as well. She heard only two steps behind her before a large hand wrapped around her mouth and pulled her backwards into an armored body.

A deep, melodic voice said "I've missed you, pet." Her next breath was a piercing scream of pure horror, but only for a second, as she felt the cold touch of a blade against her throat. "Shhh... " he said, then in a calm, taunting tone, "I'm going to remove my hand from your lips now. But you're not going to make a sound." He pressed the blade harder, but changed the angle so it didn't cut. "Do we have an agreement?" She closed her eyes and nodded very slightly. "Good girl. Come with me."

He walked her down the hallway, and past her room. She dared not fight or even ask questions, and stepped carefully, as he kept a hand on her back and the blade against her throat the entire time, watching her, reveling in her fear. He led her to another room and closed the door behind them, finally removing the dagger. She jumped away from his hand as soon as he did, and checked her throat for blood. In a clear, threatening voice, she demanded, "Let me go."

He leered at her. "Courage, even against an armed adversary." He flipped the dagger over in his hand and came towards her. He tilted his head. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Guards are everywhere," she said plainly. "Even if I can't escape, I'll scream so loud your ears will bleed. Dagger be damned. I'd rather be dead than trapped in this room with you. And then, you'll have to explain to the guards why you're standing over the body of a human. The one who was so sick that Odin himself brought her here from Midgard to be healed."

He threw his head back and let out a long, guttural laugh. "Scream as loud as you will, precious girl. You'll find that the walls will not oblige you."

With impossible speed he grabbed her neck, dragged her a few feet and tossed her onto the bed. She recovered quickly, but as soon as she sat up he pinned her back down again with a single hand on her chest. He swung a leg over her hips. "Get off of me!" she screamed, and thrashed as much as she could under his weight. He stared down at her and grinned, shaking his head. "Oh, how I'd love to take advantage of our privacy, pet. But I've already broken a promise." He leaned in. "And to do so, would absolutely _shatter_ it."

Suddenly she stopped moving and glared. "Just kill me then, you deranged freak!" she squeaked, as he was pressing on her lungs the more he leaned. "I will not fight you anymore."

His grin faded. He saw nothing but pain and anger in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow and studied her, then he removed his hand from her chest, placing it on the bed next to her instead. She took a deep breath when he did. He nodded in agreement. "I don't recommend that you do." Then he straightened up a bit, still holding her in place but no longer so close. "I've no intention to fight or to kill you. But unfortunately, your real fear, is to be controlled." He held up a hand and looked at it. "Now. I must reach into your mind. I will _not_ control you, pet. I promised that I wouldn't. You may choose to trust me... or don't. But know this: the more you struggle, the longer this will take. It is a much more difficult process than before. And I will hold you still by any means, for as long as is necessary."

"What -" she started. But her voice began to break. Realizing she was helpless either way, her eyes welled up. But before she could let out a sob he pressed a finger to her lips. "You will know soon enough. You will not be harmed in the least... if you _do_ as I _say_."

He moved the hand towards her slowly, and she followed it with anxious eyes as he placed it on her forehead. She whimpered then and closed them. "Be _calm_ ," he soothed. He stared at her with great focus and intent, and placed his hand on her chest again, gently, as a reminder.

After a minute she opened her eyes again. But he didn't seem to be looking there. It was almost like he was looking _through_ them, past them. As she analyzed his face and body language - trying to convince herself that he must have a good reason for doing this to her - she became disoriented, but not beyond movement. It was a lot like being very, very drunk, she thought. Then he squinted and starting moving his lips, chanting something soundlessly... definitely distracted. It presented to her a very small chance to escape. But he probably really _wasn't_ going to hurt her... he'd have done it already. And then the memories came back, very slowly, but with disturbing clarity. She twitched when she remembered him suddenly doing what he was doing right now, after her agreeing to do him a favor. He'd tricked her. But she had to have been trusting of him before that... and she was, to some degree. Then, the memory of their discussion about the Tesseract. She shivered violently, and grabbed his wrist. He gave her a scolding look, but he didn't stop. His jotun form, their fight. She tensed up with renewed fear, and closed her eyes tight, but didn't move. The memories all flooded her mind in this way, explaining themselves in reverse, all the way up to when she _didn't_ faint, and found out that she was carrying Loki's child. She gasped loudly when he removed his hands and she returned to full alertness.

He backed away from her, and immediately she sat up. But he didn't quite make it out-of-range before she pulled back and punched him in the side of his turned head, as hard as she could. His head snapped sideways, and as he brought it back up he gritted his teeth and made a very low, soft growl... struggling to control a flash of anger. She knew she hadn't hurt him in the least. But it's the thought that counts, she told herself.

He stood up, turned, and forced a grin. "I suppose I deserved that... for breaking my promise not to touch you without permission. But really now, would you rather have continued your existence here without those memories?" He held his palms up in front of him and pressed his lips together, seeking her agreement.

Her face was contorted in the most interesting combination of rage, outrage, shock, and the last few delectable drops of her fear. Both hands made fists as she yelled at him. "You shouldn't have removed them in the first place!"

Ignoring her anger, he let his excitement be known. "You did well!" He placed his hands behind his back and began to pace the room. "I thank you, very much, for the favor."

Confusion worked its way into her emotional palette. "Why..."

"I needed your fear." he interrupted. Lifting his chin, he elaborated. "As upset as you were, about the Tesseract, I knew that I must move my plans ahead of schedule. And that your fear would add _much_ -needed authenticity to my performance."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Plans?"

He looked at the ceiling, having been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten. "Ah, yes. From the beginning then. What do you know of my abilities?"

Instinctively, she hesitated. But this wasn't an interrogation. Nor did she work for SHIELD anymore. In fact, she had no doubt that they'd have killed her, if the options were that or to let her escape. The way they saw her now, she was only thirty percent asset, and seventy percent threat. "SHIELD intel says that you can disguise yourself as anyone, and appear any way. And you can project duplicates of either yourself or someone else that are rarely discernible from the real version. There is one instance of you doing both at the same time, in Stuttgart, I believe." She smirked. "And you're just a lying, deceitful, manipulative bastard in general."

The look on his face was the same that one might give a child who had just called them a 'stupid-head'.

"Well then. Odin is no more. He is me. But you already know that. It was I who led you to the hall, but it was an illusion who took the throne, and declared you a citizen of Asgard. And, if I may say, my own acting was so impeccable that none would second-guess the harrowing story of my adventures in Svartalfheim." He paused, and pointed while remembering of each perfectly-executed element of his plan. "The scout was also a projection. As was the guard who approached yours, requiring his immediate assistance to quell a prisoner. At which point I did what was necessary to get close to you, whilst you saw me as I was. I do apologize for that, as a matter of fact. I may have gotten a bit... carried away." He anticipated her reaction.

Blinking, she said, "You didn't need to terrorize me like that. I'd have cooperated with you, as long as you had that dagger..."

He chuckled darkly, and dipped his head. "Probably. But playing with you is such a pleasure." He casually looked her way again. She seemed quite appalled. He drifted back towards her now, enjoying this banter. In an incredulous half-whisper, he posed a rhetorical question. "Have you never wondered why? It's because you are a _fighter_. It is... awe-inspiring, to watch you fight things which are clearly much larger and more powerful than yourself. And what is positively fascinating, is that it's not out of bravado or naivety. Oh, no. You've courted _death_." He paused, as a delightfully mischievous idea came to mind. "I wonder what would happen if I gave you the means to defeat such entities." He smiled. "Would you like that?"

She tried to figure out what he meant, as she hopped up from the bed and took a few steps forward. She peered at him suspiciously. "Are you saying that I could actually take down an _aesir_?"

"Oss." he corrected. "And... possibly. You seem to have taken to the knife." He ran a few fingers across his throat, where the scar from her threat was almost gone. He circled around her slowly as he continued. "But, I digress. After such time as I have redeemed myself in the eyes of Asgard, Odin will pass. Thor has officially abdicated the throne, and no other heir exists... save for me. I will become the legitimate king of Asgard, at which point your child will become my child. And we will all live 'happily ever after'," he said, mocking the Midgardian turn of phrase.

Her eyes didn't follow him, even as he moved to stand behind her. She was preoccupied, debating whether to just tell him now that she had no intention of staying. He seemed to really want her to, and she had no idea how she'd go about hiding from SHIELD for very long on Earth. But even though it didn't seem to bother her as of late, the evil Loki lurked, just beneath the surface, she was sure of it. Such an intrinsic part of his personality couldn't have disappeared completely.

That train of thought was interrupted, however, once she realized that there was a pretty big hole in his plan.

"Wait, how are you going to claim your heir, when you think I'm already into the second trimester..." She rolled her eyes. "...if you can call it that. The math doesn't work out for it to be yours. Unless you plan to tell them how it really came to be..."

"I do not. Fortunately, few in Asgard have knowledge of jotun reproduction, and none for that of humans. They'll believe he was conceived here... once you have come to love me, of course." He peered around her shoulder and smiled, in a sly, enchanting manner. "For all they know, a year and some-odd months is entirely normal for our unique little prince." He put a hand on her stomach, and she allowed it, still reeling a bit from that smile.

So much fun, in so many ways... and how forgiving she is, he deviously thought. What a resilient metaphorical heart. But what was clawing its way to the surface of all his thoughts, was how much he really cared for her. And with this, he realized, he frightened _himself_.


	10. ...Ladies

Once they'd come to an understanding regarding the definition of "favor", she wasn't even really angry with him anymore. She probably would have gotten herself thrown in to AsJail at some point anyway, she figured, without Loki's help.

He made sure she understood that she'd have to avoid him for awhile, for the sake of appearances. So, happy to be free of both that room and the gilded cage that was the king's hall, she returned to the one she'd caught a glimpse of before. On the way there she passed one guard, and discreetly watched him for signs of suspicion for where she'd just been. Oblivious, as expected. She could always trust Loki to be a master of stealth. It was one of the skills he had that she admired, and watched closely.

Hers was a smaller room, one a little more practical; less lavish. There was an elaborate green dress on the bed, which she suspected was just her size - if not her style - and a pair of fancy sandals with which to replace her boots. Not surprisingly, he had good taste. And he probably knew that she'd prefer even the airy, regal style of the locals to her trusty old uniform now... with the state that it was in. Next to the dress was a braided belt, made of very fine black leather, and a matching sheath which contained some sort of blade. She pulled it out to reveal a dagger... one of his? No, it was one solid piece of some sort of dark metal, and the handle was decorated with recessed silver characters, very similar in appearance to those used in Old Norse. It was beautiful. She very lightly touched the edge of the blade with her finger, and was surprised to see that it still cut into the top layer of skin. This was no steak-knife. Was he just trying to make her feel more secure... or was there a real threat here, from which she _needed_ to defend herself?

Upon closely inspecting the wall for doors, she found the washroom, with another huge tub, and a shower as well. On the same wall was a full-sized vanity, with more amenities than a woman could ever want with which to make herself presentable. Looking into the mirror, she couldn't help but cringe at her battle-worn appearance, and decided then that it was probably a good idea to try to blend in.

She was relieved to see what looked like some nice, concealing makeup on the vanity. That would certainly help. She'd seen no scars or evidence of injury on anybody there, save for whatever was under Odin's eyepatch. In the midst of her thorough supplies assessment, she noticed in the mirror's reflection that somebody was standing in the doorway. She spun around to see a modestly-dressed young girl, who stood silently, attentively, as if she were waiting for something. Most likely a handmaiden, she surmised.

She picked up her new clothing and moved towards the door, but the girl only continued to watch, in indirect glances up from the floor. "I'd like to close this door now, so I can get dressed," she explained kindly. At that, the girl sprang to life. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, returning to her original hands-folded pose on the other side. She couldn't have been more than twelve... at least if she were human. She wasn't quite sure how to address her, not knowing if that was her true age. "Thank you... but you don't need to stay."

The girl looked at her wide-eyed, concerned by that response. "I can help!" she insisted, and held up her fingers to count on them, starting with her thumb. "I am good at hiding injuries. And washing hair. I am _not_ very good at hemming..." she frowned "...but I will try my best if need be. I can fetch the tailor for you, if something is not to your liking. And I am very good at brushing and braiding long hair, such as your own." She smiled brightly, betraying her excitement, then quickly toned it down... as she'd been told so many times to do.

Sara giggled a little, relieved to see that the girl wasn't actually, by human standards, an old woman or something. She simply didn't have the heart to order her out. "Okay. I don't need help with most of those things. But make yourself comfortable here for a little bit, and when I come out you can help me with my hair." She nodded enthusiastically, and relocated to the center of the room. She continued to stand at attention as she went into the washroom, closing the door behind her.

She washed and dressed with much more care than usual, hoping that matching the citizens' flawless appearances would make her feel more comfortable. But she planned to thoroughly explore this fascinating place, regardless. The girl was in the midst of a yawn when she opened the door again, but quickly cut it short and tried to look as if she hadn't been. Sara smiled, took a seat at the mirror, and began to cover up her scrapes. She looked at the powder, puzzled at how thin it actually was, as she dusted it between her fingers. Ever-observant, the girl rushed over, picked up a tiny pitcher and added a few drops of clear liquid to it. Instantly it dissolved into a creamy paste, which applied much more easily, covered well, and it even seemed to soothe the broken skin. As promised, she allowed her to help with her hair, and was astonished at the speed with which she made it into two perfect, four-layered french braids. "It's beautiful," she granted...

The girl almost burst with pride. But she stifled it. "Will you attend this evening's meal with the others?" she asked her, somewhat nervously.

Having forgotten all about the ‘king's table’ that Loki had mentioned, she wasn't sure. But she didn’t want to avoid anything that might be expected of her. She intended to fully immerse herself in the culture. She was going to be here for a while. “I suppose I will.” The girl smiled, bowed quickly, and left the room.

Said ‘meal’, and every other one thereafter, was more of a fantastic feast, in celebration of life and nothing in particular. Channeling the spirit of her ancestors, Sara came to enjoy them immensely. Loki was conspicuously absent, a fact attributed to what he had been through on Svartalfheim, of course. She had to admit to herself, after a while, that she missed the manipulative psycho. But this put her in the perfect position to ensure that the information he and his alter-ego had been leaking to the general populous remained intact, unaccompanied by any suspicions of her true purpose here. Wherever she went, she left a wake of whispered curiosities and rumors, the purveyors of which would almost always underestimate her keen sense of hearing.

"The scepter has left an indelible mark on her soul, one which _even the king_ cannot conceal. Her return to Midgard would endanger the realm. It is said that she’s agreed to _stay_ here, until an alternative is found... for the rest of her days if need be."

How clever, she'd thought when she'd heard the first version of that one. Loki had managed to provide sound reasoning for her to stay here forever - reminding _her_ to consider that option - without having to come out and ask her about it himself. She was beginning to figure him out. Even with so many more important purposes for it, his intelligence would always protect his pride.

"He says that her mind is still tainted by the scepter. It was never forcibly severed from it, as it was for the other mortals, and as she nears it, its power over her becomes a beacon to all who would seek it. It is what drew his attention to her long ago, and it was Loki’s doing... “

“I cannot blame her then, for fearing him."

And he was attempting to make up for causing her to make a scene in front of everyone. How thoughtful.

“If such an enemy were to attack Midgard again, without Loki's desire to keep its people alive for his rule, they would surely be destroyed. Or worse - it could start a war much larger than they."

"Why does he not take the scepter from them then; bring it here where it would be secure?"

"He is a wise king. He values the safety of Asgard over the control of such powers. He keeps only the Tesseract here. The scepter is in the hands of one who would guard it with his life... as is the Aether. It is a much simpler matter to keep one mortal here, in its stead."

The Lie-Smith crafted such exquisite lies. From an outside point of view, it was actually quite impressive.

It took her several days to actually leave the palatial walls of the Hall of Asgard. Not because she was afraid to, but because she'd had trouble finding the way out! Sure, she'd been paying attention to which doors probably led outside; it was a habit of hers these days to make a mental note of such things. But traversing the great halls to get there - and not becoming distracted by something else much more fascinating - was easier said than done.

When she finally did make it all the way up to a grandiose golden set of doors, she was surprised to find that they had no locks. But, then again, she supposed it wasn't necessary to lock doors when your home security system was a couple hundred well-distributed armed soldiers. She pulled on the handle of one, and then the other, but they didn't move. So she put both hands on one and put more effort into it, leaning backwards for extra leverage. The huge, solid metal door then gave way... to a breathtakingly verdant garden. This is definitely my new favorite place, she thought, as she wandered the trellised paths, and considered whether it might be okay to eat the delectable-looking fruits which dangled just within her reach. Beams of sunlight filtered through the blooming trees, and illuminated the top layer of giant grapevine leaves, giving the whole place a magical green glow.

It was so pure and tranquil there, that the sound of clashing swords cut through it all too easily, though it was very faint and far-away. As she moved through the maze of green in the direction of the noise, listening more intently now, she could hear men yelling, and closer yet, there seemed to be several of them. This sent her into a full run towards the source, and as she ran she drew her blade.

She saw the brightness of an open field just past a row of honeysuckle bushes, and as she approached she crouched down and looked between them, careful not to rustle any large branches. But what she saw wasn't just a sword fight. It was a textbook-worthy image of imposing soldiers in skillful hand-to-hand combat, involving just about every kind of weapon imaginable, and far in the distance she could make out an archery range as well. The yelling was in fairly good spirit it seemed, even when it was two or three to one. So she stepped out from the greenery, and timidly took a seat on a large, pink moss-covered rock. A few of the closest participants noticed and looked her way, but it seemed that they were not unused to having an audience.

There was one match in particular which drew her attention, and that was because it was one warrior, skillfully holding... _her_ own, against four armed opponents. The red and black blur of speed slowed just enough to reveal itself to be a dark-haired young asynjur, using a double-bladed sword. She wore custom armor like the others, but hers actually complimented her beauty, with perfectly-shaped silver plating, short leather faulds reminiscent of a skirt, and the most lovely knee-high boots. She liked this one already.

The warrior noticed her as well, even as she made short work of her remaining opponents. She made it look so easy that Sara began to wonder who was actually training who. When the last man found himself disarmed, she sheathed the weapon on her back, and as she did she took a longer, less-distracted look. She grinned victoriously at the man and spoke with him for a few minutes, all the while watching her, then she jogged over and addressed her directly. "Milady. You are of SHIELD, yes?"

"I am," she lied.

"What news of Thor? Does he plan to return?"

There had been little reason to study him, as he was much more cooperative than her usual subjects and answered SHIELD's questions freely, whenever he could be caught. But she tried her best to remember what she'd heard from her superiors. "From what I understand, probably not. I haven't spoken with him personally, but I know he's applied for permanent citizenship. He's staying with Jane Foster, and helps the others protect Midgard."

She was clearly disheartened by this. Her gaze fell, and she said nothing in response. Sara felt bad now, for being so blunt. She gestured towards the spot she'd seen her training. "Besides, with such skilled warriors as yourself staying here, Asgard needs half the protection that Midgard does."

Her eyes immediately brightened. "Did he say that?"

"Well, not exactly. But from what I've heard about him, he wouldn't just abandon the throne and his people, if there was any question that they would be safe without him."

Her intense, thoughtful stare shifted away. Then it yielded entirely to reveal a shrewd grin. "This is very true." She looked back at Sara. "I am Lady Sif, friend of Thor. I have met the honorable Son of Coul as well. And any friend of his is a friend of mine."

She was puzzled for a moment, until she figured out through the context of the statement who Son of Coul was. Then she laughed. "Oh... Coulson. Now he _has_ spoken of you. I really should have known who you were, the moment I saw you take down four guys at once." She shook her head in astonishment. "None of them even landed a blow!"

Her smile widened, and she raised an eyebrow. "You are not such a weakling yourself, Iversen. I witnessed your battle with five of the king's guards. You'd have put them in their place... had it been a fair fight. Every one of them drew weapons in order to contain your fury."

She scoffed. "My fury's going to get me sent back to 'the dungeons' again," she said, mimicking the guard's low voice.

Sif let loose a hearty laugh. "Not while you're with me."

She wasn't kidding about that. With Loki keeping to himself, and 'Odin' having not much more to do with her, Sif was the biggest help - and the first one she'd met who didn't seem to mind the incessant questioning of the ways of her people. She learned all the rules, which ones could be bent, or broken, and how to get on the good side of those with authority in certain matters. Sif even took her to have made her own set of leather armor, complete with pants and knee-high boots. Though her favorite color had always been bright green, she asked that they only use it for the non-leather pieces and accents. The leather itself was a pure, snowy white. It looked very good on her - complimenting, for once, her nearly-white hair - and not at all like Loki's habitual green with black. The one thing she did keep was the dagger. The stark black of its belt stood out against the rest, and it seemed to draw everyone's attention to the noticeably-fine weapon she kept at her side at all times. That was probably a good thing, she thought. Whomever Loki had intended her to be able to defend herself against would know at first glance that she was, at least, armed.

Over the next few weeks, Sara metamorphosized into a social butterfly. She attended every one of their sumptuous meals, and offered to help out wherever possible. She never could cook worth a damn, but she'd often help serve, and stayed long after to hang out with everyone as well. She certainly wasn't strong, and they found it very odd her refusal to drink. But after besting even the toughest aesir in several tests of wit, they accepted her own brand of strength, and treated her as their own. They seemed to admire her resilience. And she and Lady Sif were good friends. Best friends, it seemed, whenever she spoke of Thor.

She was in the middle of a good old-fashioned staring contest with a golden-eyed oss when she heard a very familiar, low chuckle. Half the people in the hall stopped their merry carousing immediately to look in the direction of the voice. "I see I'm not the only one to be captivated by those eyes." Loki was leaning against the frame of the nearest door to the hall, with a sly grin on his face.

Using her new friends as an excuse to speak to him unafraid, she gave him a chastising look. "Now, Loki. The rest of him has its merits as well." She grinned, leaning over the table to slap her hand onto her opponent's shoulder. "You're beautiful, man. Don't you _ever_ forget that." Nearly every drunken bastard in the hall burst into raucous laughter.

She'd easily killed the tension with her nonchalant reaction, because it had been caused by what most of them knew. She'd gradually revealed to her friends the details of her encounter with Loki... though, she'd told only Sif of his physical assaults. Sif was still standing by the table, where she'd been enjoying the odd competition, when Loki began his approach. Sara sat up straight as he did, and watched him with a slight uncertainty. At this Sif drew her sword. Seven aesir instantly did the same. And the hall fell completely silent.

Loki stopped and slowly raised his hands, a diplomatic comportment to his actions and words. "Stay your hands, friends of Iversen. I only wish to speak." Nobody moved. He turned his eyes to her. "Sara, I beseech you. Allow me your presence... this once." He glanced at the sword of the large oss who now stood almost directly between them, and leaned over a bit to peek around him. "Will you hear me?" he asked politely.

She looked to her friends, and nodded. She tugged at the coat of the one in front of her as well, causing him to look over his shoulder at the rest. He was the last to lower his weapon, and among the few to sheathe theirs. Then he also stepped aside, giving Loki the floor. Loki graciously accepted, taking another few steps forward. Then he took a knee, directly in front of her, and spoke with the utmost sincerity. "The pain that I have caused you haunts my every waking moment. I'm certain that it would comprise my nightmares as well, were that task not already claimed by the destruction I have wrought, and the lives I took on Midgard..." She raised an eyebrow at that. "To redeem myself in your eyes I would do anything. However, though my skills are many, I fear I cannot accomplish the impossible." He placed both hands over his heart. "I can offer you only words. My deepest, most genuine apologies, my lady... for all that I have done."

Her eyes gradually narrowed as she stared, silently, into his. He met her gaze unwavering, with an unexpectedly genuine sense of remorse. This was all just an act... right? She looked him over, curious now. She studied every inch of his statuesque frame, looking for any sign of false emotion, or over-compensation for a lack thereof. When she finally spoke, she was unable to hide her surprise. Softly, she said "I accept."

Loki seemed relieved, and he rose to his feet, as the sound of the remaining weapons being sheathed echoed through the silent room. "Thank you. You have... eased, my guilt, this day. And for all days forthcoming, whether you are near or far, I am _always_ at your service."

She nodded, acknowledging his vow. The members of the group around her all looked at each other, expressions varying between the astonished, the disbelieving and the impressed. A few of the less-sober aesir looked almost weepy. Sara giggled at them under her breath, and the people began to whisper, then talk, and laugh and drink again. Loki bowed out and turned to leave. But then he saw something which shattered his cool composure and stopped him abruptly in his tracks.

"BROTHER!" a joyful voice boomed. It was so loud it scared the crap out of Sara. Everyone else's faces lit up, and looked for the source. But no sooner had they located it than it moved, the huge, heavily-armored man tackling Loki, in a hug fit for someone who'd come back from the dead. "Verily you are alive!"

Loki hugged him back lightly, and turned - as best he could - to glance at Sara with a very uneasy smile. Having never met his brother in person, it took her a moment to bring up who he was, and realize what Loki was thinking...

Damn.


	11. Thor

Thor loosened his hold, took a step back, and thumped his hands onto Loki's shoulders. Suddenly his voice was solemn. "The messenger has told me everything. You must _cease_ this, Brother."

Cease what? She analyzed his current mannerisms and compared them to what she knew of Thor. He was not one to tiptoe around a subject. And after a couple hundred years, he had to be very familiar with Loki's tactics...

His troubled expression broke into a loving smile. "I grow weary of mourning for you."

Loki snapped back into the role of good guy; master of charm. He scanned the crowd, incorporating everyone into this joyful reunion. "Well I hardly think there is a better cause for sacrifice than to aid our champion in a quest to save the universe. And - had I been given the option - I don't believe I could have asked for a more honorable death. Thank you, Brother, for allowing me to fight..." A distinct sadness flashed in his eyes for just a moment. "...for Mother. For vengeance..." He smiled, turned and gestured towards them. "...for Asgard!"

Most of the crowd echoed his cheer. More people then joined the brothers, inviting both to partake of their merrymakings, asking questions, telling stories of their own glorious battles. Thor was the perfect conduit for Loki to use to approach anyone who still had misgivings about him, even Sif. Sara, however, slowly, casually melted away into the crowd, hoping to reduce her chances of being spoken to directly. Thor was loyal to SHIELD. And for whatever reason SHIELD had seen fit to completely disregard the basic human rights of a non-threatening, perfectly-sane established and favored agent in order to put her in a cell. She mingled with random people until she was standing at the last row of tables, all the way at the far wall. Leaving entirely, so soon after Thor arrived, she'd decided, would look suspicious.

The celebration continued long into the night. There were now _lots_ of things to drink to. The everyday gathering quickly turned into the loudest, rowdiest, most insane party she had ever been to in her life. She soaked in the cacophonous atmosphere, laughing at aesir with the asynjur, playfully shoving at the massive guys to get their attention, and yelling over the noise to join in their conversations and debates; some of which were intelligent. Mostly not.

With a mighty yell, a slightly smaller oss came flying, backwards and upside-down, across the huge hall, culminating in the utter annihilation of the giant hardwood table next to her. The wood-splitting impact was even louder than the crowd. Slightly smaller, the oss was that is, than the one who'd thrown him there. The poor guy tried to get up, but was so drunk he fell back down, so he just sat there instead, and continued to yell at his opponent. At that, she and several bystanders burst into laughter. He was slurring his words, and looking around, arms outstretched, as if to say 'look what you did'. He stood up and stumbled back as the bigger guy started aggressively towards him again. But when the slightly-more-ambulatory one noticed Sara, he stopped short and stared instead. Upon following his eyes, which only seconds ago had been glowing with indignant fury, the smaller one did as well. The hall became noticeably quieter. All this got Thor and Loki's attention, too.

Annoyed by their stares, she demanded of everybody, "What?". She checked behind her to see if there was something else they were all looking at; something far more fascinating than little old her.

A sense of dread filled Loki, but he kept it in check, using that energy instead to skillfully avoid knocking people over whilst shoving his way through, to get to the fragile mortal. Strong in mind she may be, he thought, but her body was in direct contrast, its ability to protect their child negligible. Thor followed in his wake.

He need not ask permission to touch her, he decided, as this was potentially an urgent situation. He knelt down next to her and lifted the faulds from her outer thigh. Immediately she gasped. "What are you - Hey!" But he ignored her protests, instead focusing on examining her and gently removing the sizable splinter of wood from her delicate flesh.

As suspected, she stopped questioning his motivations when she saw that the white strips of leather he held were covered in bright red blood. The table-fragment had managed to fly between two pieces of armor and lodge itself there, leaving quite a bit of damage in its wake. As the blood flowed freely, taking with it much of the remaining particles, he knew she'd soon feel the pain. So he worked more quickly, tearing the hole in her leggings out wider to be sure there was nothing else. A hushed cry escaped her lips, as she shifted her weight off of that leg.

He was not surprised. Firmly, he told her "Be still". And she complied. Thor stood behind them, arms folded, watching, judging, waiting to be of some use. Finally Loki replaced the faulds and looked at his brother, concerned. "It is not a serious wound. But the bleeding must be stopped." Then at her. "I'm going to take you to our healers, pet. Is that alright?"

She yelped in pain from behind gritted teeth. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." She'd barely finished the sentence, when Thor stepped forward and swiftly scooped her off of her feet. Startled, she grabbed the huge arm under her and braced herself with a hand on his chest. He gave her a weak smile. The people - even the stumbly ones - parted for them, as they made their way to the door. _S_ _o_ totally could have walked there myself, she thought, but she didn't actually say anything to oppose it. It hurt pretty badly, anyway.

Some of the others looked at her like she might die from this little flesh wound. They're probably not used to seeing someone in their midst so easily injured, she guessed. Thankfully, Thor made haste with her out of the hall. She couldn't help but look away; just wishing she were different from them in _any_ other sense. Compared to them, she might as well be made of rice paper. And how could Loki even _think_ , for a minute, that this weakness wouldn't pass to his child? The strong, fearless traits of her Viking ancestors were hardly present in today's populous... least of all, her. Despite it, she'd been accepted here, as a friend, perhaps a curiosity. But as for a ruler...

The pain surged once again as she was set down onto a table. Loki explained what had happened and, without question, the healers began to clean and dress the wound. Oddly enough, Thor had chosen not to return to the party and his friends. Instead he stayed with them. She wondered if it was out of concern for the _obvious_ mortal in the room, or if it was to keep an eye on Loki; given their history. He hadn't lost sight of him once since his arrival. Only once her leg was completely bandaged up, did he speak. With a caring and somewhat bemused smile, he asked the room, "So. Who _is_ this bright and delicate flower... amongst the raging bilgesnipe?"

She laughed. She was relieved to see that SHIELD hadn't told Thor of her yet. And there were very few people here who cared enough to remember her name. SHIELD probably believed she was somewhere still on Earth. She couldn't help but laugh at that as well.

Expertly concealing the true reason for her giggles, she responded with appropriate timing. She smiled right back and offered a handshake. "Ragnhild." Her grandmother's name. She'd never expected to have to lie about her identity here. She'd never expected Loki to make himself public, giving reason for the presence of the only other SHIELD-affiliated Asgardian in the freaking universe! But here he stood. And she knew he'd most likely be going back to Earth - to _them_ \- at some point. Loki's little publicity stunt, combined with his rumored behaviors around town, seemed to have won him the love of the people again. She glanced at Loki, who stood behind Thor, eyeing her with a sly grin.

Thor took her hand, but turned it, lifting it up to for a kiss. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ragnhild." She stared, bemused, but smiled.

"I - I'm honored." She couldn't let on that she all but knew him already, thanks to her previous career. She was just a random mortal. She hopped down from the table, wincing just a bit. But whatever they had applied under the bandage was soothing it the more she moved around. He gave her that same weak smile again. It was kind, but less than genuine. Then even that faded, as he turned to speak with the healers.

Loki watched her carefully as she made her way towards the door. "My apologies, for touching you, pet. But surely you don't intend to rejoin the festivities..." He raised an eyebrow. "By our definition, things have not yet begun to get out-of-hand. They only paused in surprise, at your injury, primarily unaccustomed to mortals..."

Frankly, she agreed. "No, I think I will call it a night. If you will excuse me, gentlemen." She made a point not to appear as if she were limping, as she walked past them and into the hallway. She wasn't too terribly successful in that.

Thor saw her leaving and stepped forward. "Milady! May I help you to your chambers?"

"No, thank you. It hurts half as much as it did in the hall. But thanks very much for the lift!" Thor smiled back and stayed there, starting up a conversation with Loki instead. About her, no doubt. But she didn't care. She was getting very hot again, and exhausted. She would have to catch Loki alone sometime soon, and ask him about all of that.

The first thing she did was open the huge window, and the door to the balcony of her room. She stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the perfectly cool night air. Then, a knock at the door.

She opened it, only to see Thor again.

"Hey, long time no see!" she said cheerfully, though her heart was pounding in her chest.

His eyes crinkled up in a disarmingly bright smile. "I apologize for the disturbance." He gestured towards the room. "May I come in?"

"Certainly." She fought herself, and hid the panic well. Why, she thought. Why is he here. "I know of no more famous gentleman than yourself."

He looked down, almost blushing, as he took a few steps into the room. He closed the door behind him. Then his expression changed, and he spoke softly, seriously. "Milady. Out of kindness I feign ignorance, in the presence of others. But I know that you are Sara Iversen." His brow lowered slightly as he looked into her eyes again. "You are aware that SHIELD searches for you?"

She briefly considered insisting that she was someone else. But SHIELD had an extensive file on her, surely public knowledge by now, photos and all. She was caught. "I... thought that might be the case."

He watched her reactions carefully. She may very well be unstable, he thought. And, while I respect the son of Coul's judgement, I _will_ refuse to harm her to accomplish this honorable task. "I must ask you to return with me to Midgard. We had all hoped that your response to my request would be... kinder, than what you gave those who attempted to help you before." He gave her a bright, charming smile, and held out his hand. "Please."

She resisted it, looking down. "I'm sorry; I... can't do that. They wanted to lock me up before. Who knows what they'll want to do to me now." She shook her head. "The worst part is, I don't even know _why!_ " Then she looked him in the eyes. "Do you?"

He still looked at her as if she were a criminal. "I do not." He did seem to consider her opinion, but had hardened his heart against feeling sorry for her long ago. They'd probably told him not to listen to her at all, she thought. Patiently, he addressed her concerns. "But they have assured me that no harm will come to you upon your return."

She scoffed. "I've heard that before." Then she turned away. "Look, I'm not going back to them. I know what they want. They want answers. Tell them they don't need to dissect me for that. I'll answer all of their questions, gladly; send samples, whatever they want... from the safety of these halls."

She lowered her head, fearfully, hoping he would give this up. She was no real threat to _anyone_ here.

He shifted a little, and regarded her with apologetic eyes. "I am afraid I must insist." Both gently and quickly, he grabbed her wrist, and led her towards the door.

Instinctively she tried to take it back, twisting and pulling with all her strength, but of course it didn't budge. If it wasn't for the growing panic, she wouldn't have even tried. Those muscles had had her on edge since she first saw him in person... as well as Loki's reaction. But there were undisclosed reasons for her fear of SHIELD. She kept fighting every step. The look in her eyes was venomous. "Let... go of me," she growled. "You have no right to do this!"

He stopped for a moment. He held out his other hand and, from somewhere behind them, his hammer came to it. As he grasped it, he eyed her, like he was expecting her to all-of-a-sudden break out some more challenging fighting skills. When she didn't, he simply began to drag her down the hall.

"Unhand her Thor." Loki warned, as he stepped into the hall from another room. He spoke calmly, but in a deeper, harsher tone than she'd ever heard from him before. "I see that spending some time away from home has changed you as well. Except... ask anyone here and you'll find that _I've_ changed for the better." Thor scowled at him, to no effect. "That you would lay a finger on Mjolnir in confrontation with a mortal woman..." Loki shook his head slowly. "...it betrays in you a rather despicable nature."

Indignantly, he raised his voice, and pointed at him with his hammer. "The humans are not to be underestimated, Loki. You know this better than most. SHIELD has requested that I bring this one back to them. She is dangerous."

"SHIELD..." He raised an eyebrow as he ambled towards them. "Ah, yes... the faction which would have destroyed an entire city, whilst you and yours still defended it." He placed his hand on the arm Thor held her with, and tilted his head to the side. "I'd advise against trusting their judgement."

Thor hesitated. Then he let go of her. She took several steps back from him, glaring, rubbing her wrist lightly. "It was not my wish to bring this to light, based solely on accusations. But I have seen what she has done. In minutes, she murdered one of her own, and severely injured two more. They know not the reason, nor the manner with which she did this. But they say she is no ordinary mortal."

As Thor spoke, her mind raced. There was no good explanation for it. Not even Loki could come up with one... not without revealing the truth... and more questions would certainly follow. Best case scenario, his actions on Midgard mean he'll never get his throne. Worst... if the connection is made to whatever he did to Odin... I can't just let this happen, she thought.

Loki laughed. "Is that what they say? Well, I must tell you then, that you've been misinformed."

She spoke up before he could continue. "I _did_ do all of that - in order to escape. And I... regret, Dr. Talwar's death, every day. But he tried to drug me. And it wasn't _just_ me. I believe the scepter is hidden somewhere on that base. I never told anyone, but at work it's always been... difficult, to keep under wraps the damage that horrible thing did. Everywhere else I went, I was always completely in control. But there... when they tried to incapacitate me... I snapped."

Urgently, he said "You must come with me then, to explain yourself. They say that for the murder you will have a fair trial - "

"Are you _really_ so naive, Brother?" Loki narrowed his eyes at him, and lowered his voice. "These people may _never_ know how to properly handle such things. Remember their plans for the Tesseract. Weapons. And in their world, when something extraordinary manifests itself in a living being, that being is taken away, never to be seen again. _Of course_ she fled, and fought this fate. But she is no threat in Asgard. You _will not_ take her..." He looked at her, then quickly added "...not against her will."

Thor considered this new information... recalling the times that SHIELD had deceived him, by omitting information, as well. Loki was mostly right. And while he'd had the desire to keep this a strictly Midgardian affair - and to prevent Loki's _inexplicable_ meddling - in the end it was, as they would say, his 'call'. He was the only one who could come and go from Asgard as he pleased. And with no threat to anyone's safety involved, he was not inclined to just blindly follow their orders...

"They... did not reveal to me those details. And - though _your own_ past rivals theirs in treachery - I believe you have indeed changed..." He grinned. "You _love_ her, don't you, Brother?"

Loki's eyes went wide, and for a second he stared into space. He quickly recovered though, lifted his head, and parted his lips to speak, but stopped. He gazed at her for a moment, as a pained expression crept across his face. Then he closed his eyes. In a soft, yet defiant voice, he said "I do."

Thor was grinning ear-to-ear, as he looked from one to the other. Lady Iversen was in a state of pure shock, staring at Loki blankly. It was a revelation to them both, he suspected. Even he could not help but be a bit incredulous at that... that his brother could admit to such a sentiment. Towards a mortal. He wished not to further disturb the rare and tenuous bond. "Apologies to you both. I take my leave." Hastily, he turned and left the room.

His heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway until they could no longer be heard.

After several minutes of silence, Sara was the first to speak. "Loki, you..." She took a breath. "Was it an act?"

He shook himself out of his own daze. "I beg your pardon?"

"Was. It. An. Act. You know... did you mean what you said?"

He said nothing. He watched as she approached him, getting unusually close. She looked up at him and gently insisted. " _Tell_ me..." Then, smiling, she added something that would surely loosen his tongue. "...my once and future king."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and met her gaze, looking down and deep into her eyes with that same pained expression. Plainly, he said, "I cannot."

Though his words were unclear, from the look in his eyes alone, she understood exactly what he meant. Love was not something either of them was capable of. It was more just... a matter of trust. He cared for her, and she had no doubt he would always try to protect her - but when it came down to it, he felt exactly the same way that she did. This was a utilitarian relationship. She was every bit as cold inside, as he had _always_ been. With this level of understanding, though, he didn't really need to love her...

If he had a heart, I'm sure he would, she mused.


	12. Sentiment

After such displays of care and fondness - which had taken place in front of all the biggest gossipers - Loki finally felt it was okay to properly visit her, and he did so, with rapidly increasing frequency. He'd show her little-known areas of his home, or they'd walk the gardens together, and talk - mostly about the odd quirks of their respective cultures - sometimes for hours. He would receive from her reports on the thoughts and minor issues of the commoners. Of course he knew the important things; things brought to 'Odin' or himself for resolution. But she spent almost all of her time amongst them and, with a much subtler presence, she heard things... whether she was intended to or not. He ensured that their discussions would appear to everyone only as whispers between lovers. Thus, even to those who barely knew them, they seemed to have become quite fond of each other. Then, one day, Loki brought to Odin a matter of great importance. He had waited for a day when he knew many would be present in the king's hall with matters of their own and, as prince, he of course would speak first.

"Your Majesty," he greeted, bowing graciously before his father. He looked around as if surprised at the size of the crowd. "May I take from the esteemed present a moment of your time, for a subject which troubles only me?"

The golden image of Odin leaned forward in his throne, raised an eyebrow, and smiled just slightly. "Such formalities from my son are a cause for interest. Speak."

"It is a matter of the heart..." His eyes wandered and he smiled openly as excited whispers emanated from the crowd. "Mine demands of me this day that I seek the wisdom of Odin. I wish to ask the Lady Iversen for her hand in marriage." He could hear the occasional word clearly now, amongst the whispers: "human", "mortal"... "queen".

Odin seemed genuinely surprised. "You ask for my blessing?"

"Yes..." Odin's tone of voice seemed to have intimidated him into averting his eyes. "I am quite aware of how unusual it is. I myself have long considered it an impossible prospect, given our history... ' He shook his head slightly. "She is neither aesir, nor of any other advanced race. But with each passing day, I find I simply cannot contain that which I feel for her. I love her, Father... for all that she truly _is_."

Odin stared. "I see." Then he looked away, briefly. "Her presence here is strictly diplomatic. You understand this?"

"I do. But I have reason to believe that she may feel the same. She sees in me _not_ a god, nor a prince... but only a fellow being. One whose mind and presence she enjoys. She has already agreed to stay, should a solution to her condition not be found. I would relieve from you the burden of searching, and give her here, instead, all the purest forms of happiness... for the rest of her days."

He sat back in his chair again, pondering. "Pure, indeed, is the love that blossoms from the ashen grounds of war..." Loki's eyes brightened at this, and Odin regarded him somewhat warmly. "The proposed union may yet strengthen the state of peace between our realms, as well." He waved his hand in Loki's general direction. "You have my blessing."

Loki smiled and bowed out, hastily, his excitement barely concealed behind the veil of royal dignity. Some of that was true, he admitted to himself. Scanning the crowd, he noticed that they were all smiling as well, some in bewilderment, some practically melting in emotional empathy. He congratulated himself on another fine performance. Now, he thought, let us make this official.

He made his way from the quiet prestige of the king's hall, to the random obscenities and friendly banter of the training fields, where he knew she would be this time of day. It was always easy to find her here by sight alone, he'd noticed. Simply locate the largest crowd. As an otherwise-unseen oddity, her spars with the few who had the skill and patience to safely oblige her (or succumb to her incessant taunting) would always get the attention of many a bystander. They were all so captivated this time that he actually had to speak to gain entry into the tightly-packed ring of bodies. He tapped a random asynjur on the shoulder. With a shocked expression she immediately stepped back, shoving the oss beside her, causing a chain reaction of redirected attentions amongst that side of the crowd. He smiled and nodded towards the center of the circle. "Warriors and friends. Grant me passage?" It was an unnecessary request.

At center-stage was an oss whose name he couldn't remember, and beside him, Loki was less-than-surprised to see that Fandral had joined them in their fun... ever the philanderer that he was. On the other side, Sif and Sara - the object of his affections standing back from Fandral several feet, panting, and pointing her dagger at him. As he approached, her small voice could be distinguished from the others. "...believe you. Your honor comes into question this time, Sir. You used your super-strength on me! Admit it!"

Fandral was apprehensive for a moment, but then he grinned, raised his head high and shook it, pretending to be terribly insulted. "I. Would. Never..." He stopped when he saw Loki. "My Prince!" He opened his arms towards him. "Too long has it been since we last saw you on these fields. Care to join us?"

Loki raised his hand. "I'm afraid I must decline. My business is with the Lady Iversen..." He looked around. "...as well as any present should they like to bear witness." He strode directly up to her. She looked him up and down as he did, smiling slightly, and sheathed the dagger at her side.

Slowly, he looked into her eyes, and took her hands in his. "My Lady..." The formal term used here, of all places, made her angle her head at him, and squint her eyes suspiciously. They followed him down, widening, as he took a knee... a Midgardian tradition, the meaning of which few would recognize, save her. He figured she deserved some sort of warning for the emotional ambush of which she was about to fall victim. He couldn't help but smirk at her reaction.

The other combatants casually put some distance between them. Fandral raised an eyebrow, and leaned over to not-so-quietly whisper, "She has him on his knees often..." He and the other oss snickered while Sif gave them a dirty look.

Loki gazed at her small hands fondly, gradually furrowing his brow. "In all my interminable years, I have come to believe that I have no soul... no heart. It has driven in me a rage - a desire to harm, to conquer, to deceive..." Finally he raised his eyes to her. "I may never understand what has caused you to find me worthy of your affections, after all I have done..." He wished not to elaborate, and Sara saved him from it. She gave him a smile, and a look that said 'me neither'. Encouraged, he continued. "What I _do_ know is that I wish to be near you. Always. To protect you from harm and sadness. To take all of _your_ rage, and quell all of your fears. Sara... I love you. Will you honor me this day, and become my wife?"

Once again, she was left to wonder how much of this was the truth. But she was certain that some of it was! His words were touching and powerful and, for the first time in her life, she cried girly tears of pure, overwhelming happiness. She cleared her throat before responding the way that she knew she had to, either way. "Yes, Loki. I will," she said with confidence.

They shared the exact same expression of surprise when Fandral and Sif led the crowd into a slowly-ascending cheer of emotions and approval. He stood up, leaned down and kissed her passionately, arousing in her things that she'd not felt since she was under his control on Midgard, and, until that moment, had wondered if they were real at all.

The wedding was beautiful in its simplicity. Rarely had she ever pictured herself getting married - especially since the attack, and her subsequent loss of faith in all humanity. But, she reminded herself, Loki wasn't human. What were the odds. Her only request was that it not take place in the halls, but rather somewhere outdoors. The halls were full of skeptics and quieted disapproval. But few of those types would feel obligated to traverse the distance required to join their _true_ friends in the sunny, verdant forest. There was no fancy dress. But Loki was as handsome and eloquent as always in his vows, and he helped her with hers as well. Then - and this was what it was really about, it seemed - there was a grand celebratory feast.

He'd explained the importance of certain traditions to her, which she'd readily accepted, to his relief. All except for one. One which was very likely to make her nervous, and would best be left for after, he'd decided. That night, in a small procession of joyous friends and drunken, good-humored ribbing primarily aimed at him, he carried her over the 'threshold' of his chambers. He set her on the exquisitely-decorated bed. She was still giggling at the drunken, cantankerous Fandral when Loki turned, smiling, and unceremoniously closed the door behind them.

By the time he turned back she was already on her feet again, standing away from the bed a bit to marvel curiously at the green silk and sheer fabric curtains which had not been there before. Then she studied the copious amounts of petals from various fragrant flowers, scattered on the shiny black fur which flowed luxuriously over the edges, almost to the floor. He approached her carefully, for once having no confidence in his ability to predict her reaction to what he knew he must say. He placed his hands on her arms from behind, at which she did not even flinch. So he grinned, and pressed himself against her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he lowered himself to her ear. "You're wondering why they have escorted us here, and decorated my bed in this way, yes?"

She turned her head towards the suddenly-soft, deep voice. "It's... a bit odd." She raised an eyebrow. "What haven't you told me, Loki?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he whispered, "We are expected to consummate the marriage."

She craned her neck awkwardly to the side in an attempt to see his face. "What, like, _now?"_

"Ideally, yes."

Instead of the usual immediate, indignant response to his advances, what she said then excited him beyond what he could even conceal. She pulled away, turned, and whispered only, "Are they listening?"

His eyes squeezed shut in a shameless, cheeky grin. "Perhaps. But... if you are willing, I can make you forget that any such thing exists beyond these walls." He pulled her close again, testing her trust of him. His body and his voice now both demanded of her an answer. "What say you, pet?"

Her eyes went wide as his... enthusiasm for the idea became quite palpable. She couldn't help but tense up just a bit, having been abruptly reminded of his past assaults.

Noticing this, he guided her away, putting his hands on her shoulders instead. He had a kind, innocent look on his face. "I... would be gentle -  "

"No." she interrupted suddenly, and studied his eyes for a moment. "Don't hold back." She pointed a finger and poked him in his chest. "If, after all this time, I'm going to succumb to your wicked charms, I want it all... the full Loki." She wore a devious grin. "I can take it. And, in the event that I can't, you'll heal me. I trust you." It was hard for her to say.

His expression was priceless; pure shock, the likes of which she hadn't seen since they'd discussed his jotun form. It made her want him even more. She stood on her toes to get closer, and whispered, "Let me see your rage."

He let out a short breath, in disbelief, and searched her eyes for some explanation for the apparent change of heart. Then, without a word he kissed her - quickly, forcefully. He was still testing her willingness. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, savoring his invading tongue, then curled them around a particularly soft lock and bit him lightly, more accurately conveying her entirely-too-hormonal state of mind. She stared seductively into those gorgeous eyes again. Suddenly he let out a low growl, and gripped her neck with one hand. She was worried for a moment, but he let her step back on her own as he hastily pushed her towards the bed. He flung her onto it, then pinned her there fast, as if he were afraid she would change her mind and leave. He's probably thought about this every time we were in this sort of position for _other_ reasons, she thought, grinning.

Abruptly he pushed off of her, drawing a soft gasp from her throat. His clothing vanished, and once again she had second thoughts. She'd long since banished from her mind the frightening size of him, and his ability to bring pleasure... or more easily, extreme pain. What is _wrong_ with me, she thought. How messed up do you have to be to want that again? But she let him touch her still, stiffening up a bit as he spread his long fingers over her armor and caused it to go wherever his had. She decided she wasn't going to freak out about that - instead listening to her suddenly-exposed body, for once. She did actually trust him not to hurt her... physically at least. He traced around each of her extra-sensitive nipples, wide-eyed, mesmerized by the softness of her skin, then grasped a whole breast with one hand, while the other trailed its way further south. Before she could tense up again, he parted her folds and forced in a finger. She gasped and then blushed, slightly embarrassed at how aroused she was. But his gaze shifted up from the rest of her body and he grinned at that fact - almost maniacally. "Oh, pet..." He placed his hand on her chest, leaned in and ran a few fingers down the side of her face. "Your cries will be heard through these halls until the breaking of these fears, or the dawn," he declared. He smoothed back a lock of her hair. "...whichever comes first."

She couldn't have fought him if she wanted to, she realized, as he pushed her legs up, held them in place, and mercilessly rammed into her for the first time in a year. She arched her back and cried out as he did so repeatedly, giving her no time to adjust... but it was just what she'd wanted. And he knew it. Pain became delicious pleasure as she relaxed, giving in to him, only small whimpers escaping between heavy breaths. As her eyes rolled back into her head, she realized she'd been raking her fingernails down his arms - the only part of him he'd let her reach. He obviously loved the control. He came quickly, and his low moans pushed her over the edge as well. She almost cried in her release. It had been so long, and all this time, she'd denied herself all those thoughts of him that she still wasn't entirely sure weren't _wrong_.

Her eyes snapped open to look at the marks she'd made on him. That she could make them at all was amazing, and he caught her gaze, looking at his arms as well. His voice was deep and melodic. "As I recall... you like the look of marks on flesh." His eyes were intense, ablaze with a predatory patience. She was still absorbing the rush, saying nothing, only staring up at him. "Speechless already? Surely you realize that I am far from finished with you." She smiled uncertainly, while taking in a long, jagged breath.

In a distinctly-more-sinister, taunting tone, he said "Allow me to show you _all_ of the marks you claim to love so much." He watched her closely, and in a blink his eyes shifted to red. His skin followed suite, the blue spreading like dye in water, markings appearing one by one, from his face and neck down and across his body, as if being carved by the hand of an unseen artist.

She watched in amazement as he changed form everywhere. It seemed almost... freeing, for him, to give in and truly feel whatever had been threatening to break the spell. He grabbed her hips, intending to turn her over. But she resisted, and he let go. She wanted to see him, every inch of him. He really was beautiful this way. He lifted his chin slightly and tried again, applying some of his strength. She considered just letting him do it... but then she thought it through. She could barely handle him missionary... and no man that had taken her from behind was anywhere near that big. "Loki, wait..." But he grasped her neck again, silencing the soft-spoken plea.

"You wanted it all, pet. And you shall have it." He grabbed both of her wrists instead, too quickly for her to protest, and pinned her arms tightly behind her back. As soon as she realized what he was doing she tried to fight the movement, but it was already too late. He used the hold to flip her onto her stomach. She never would have allowed it, if he weren't so damned _fast_. She knew he was playing on her fears, but it didn't matter. She needed to get away.

He laughed as she struggled against him. She never could tolerate being restrained. "I am in control now. You can take it," he mocked. He shoved an arm under her hips to lift her onto her knees and tightened his grip on her wrists. He would give her no opportunity to get out of this position. He pulled her small body against him, not entering just yet, but her fears were swelling with his size, as she could _feel_ what was happening now.

Her face still pressed into the soft bed, she squirmed away just enough to speak. She suspected he didn't want her to, but it was more than just forcefulness now. Intimidation and cruelty laced his every word. She hadn't had this in mind when she'd offered to let him take her as he pleased. "Loki... please."

He paused, a dark grin in his voice. "Please what?"

"You're scaring me."

Suddenly he fell down over her, pressing his entire body to her skin and speaking into her ear. "That is my intention. I've already told you. I am in control, and I will break you of your fears this night."

She began to shake just slightly, trying so hard to contain the urge to fight him. She had a feeling it would only make him angry... the last thing she wanted to do in this position. It spread to her voice as well. "You're going to hurt me..."

He pulled himself upright again. "Trust me." He shoved into her slowly, deeply, and moaned in sadistic pleasure as her shaking increased her discomfort. She cried out again and again, each inch more painful, as she stretched to accommodate him; all of him. She felt alarmingly sharp pains as she took in his full length, and instinctively tried to wrench herself away. But he compensated for every move, effortlessly holding her in place. Then, slowly, he pulled out of her. A drop of blood fell onto the bed below. But she was also still slick from before, and he was able to slam back in hard, bruising her soft flesh in multiple places at once. Her scream was muffled by the bed, but she was also trying to contain it, willing herself to keep calm. It's just pain, she told herself. Give it to him. You don't need to escape this; there's no real danger. He kept pounding into her faster, his thrusts more erratic and violent. But each time he went in all the way she couldn't help but cry out loud, still afraid. 

Finally he leaned down over her to place a hand onto the bed. He thrust hard, again and again... as her cries became moans much like his. He was filling her with fiery ecstasy, so much that she no longer cared about danger, or damage. She only wanted more. She began to brace herself for him, using the arm hold he had on her. Only then did he stop his assault, pulling out slowly again as she gasped.

He chuckled darkly at that, and suddenly released her hands. They fell limp to her sides. But she willed them to function again, pushing herself up from the bed. She was breathing too hard to speak, but she had no good words for what she was feeling anyway. So she lowered her head, her wild hair falling over her face, and stayed still. She could _hear_ the wide smirk in his breathing. Then his arm was under her hips again and he filled her up all at once, causing her to throw her head back and scream. Even he began to quiver a bit, gritting his teeth between strong and furious thrusts. She braced herself against the wall as she felt herself getting close, her cries gaining volume and strength. Unable to control any sound she was making anymore, they culminated in a primal scream, as she experienced the most powerful orgasm she could ever even imagine.

She was still convulsing - and he was the only thing holding her up - when his fingers began to dig into her side and he stopped, holding her to him. He let out a broken, growling moan that sounded almost painful, as he pulsed inside of her. She savored the sounds of his ecstasy... even as she wondered if it would ever stop. When he did finally let go of her, she collapsed.

She turned over to see him again. He was still on his knees in jotun form, looking upward, gasping for air. Drops of sweat rolled down his imposingly perfect body, diverted briefly by the markings they met, then falling to join her own blood on the bed. She hurt; there was no denying that. But as she stared at him, she theorized about what had just happened there. She was pretty sure she'd never have been able to join him at that impossible level of pleasure, if he hadn't first caused her fear and pain. She needed the dark, to see the light. I should probably get used to being taught these kinds of hands-on lessons, she thought with a satisfied smirk.

He aimed his fall forward onto the bed beside her, and rolled onto his back as well. She had never seen him this... listless. He looked like he might die. She smiled kindly. "Are you alright, My Prince?" She knew he liked his titles, and perhaps it would distract him from the insulting aspect of her question.

His eyes betrayed the daze he was still in. They were very wide, and he'd barely regained his breath when he turned his head to speak. "Thank you, Sara."

She rolled onto her side to touch his chest, ignoring the stinging pain from her insides. "For what?"

"For being unafraid of my form. For allowing me to slip past your fears, and offering me full release... I understand that it must be difficult. You are so small..."

"Is _that_ what that was?" She traced a particularly intricate marking on his stomach. "So, before... it didn't feel the same for you?"

"Never. As I've said before - strong emotions will tend to break the spell. In order to keep my appearance, I must retain some control." Suddenly he sat up, concerned. "Have I harmed you?"

She smiled and mocked his calm, smooth tone. "As _I've_ said before... I can handle it."

A sense of relief washed over him. "Please, allow me to heal you." As soon as she nodded in acceptance, he gently turned her over onto her back again, and placed a hand on her chest. He slowly dragged it down, feeling for her discomfort, then stopped over everything that he'd damaged. He pressed firmly into her skin. She winced in pain, and he gave her a chastising look. He didn't like her concealing any injury from him, especially one he had _caused_. He closed his eyes, and held his hand there silently.

After a few minutes he found himself subconsciously mouthing the chant that allowed him to focus his energies into a permanent change of state. He put everything into it, as he reverted to aesir form. It broke his concentration when he sensed her loss of consciousness, but when he looked up he saw that she had only fallen asleep. He smiled, and continued to heal her, a process which would likely take an hour or so. Though, with her relative willingness to take him this way, he decided he would leave some scarring, in the right places. It would ensure that the next time it would not cause her so much pain.


	13. Process and Procedure

It would not be the last time she gave in to him. In fact, she began to seek _him_ out every once in a while. She spent time with him entirely of her own volition, in private and of course in public, though she insisted on keeping her own chambers. Odd, but she visited freely, as he made preparations for his next move.

She was a very interesting creature, he'd decided. She would rise with the sun on most days and, despite it being potentially dangerous, she insisted on socializing with her newfound group of friends in the great hall at night. He allowed her to do as she pleased. But even as observant and skittish as she was, he was watching her much more closely than she knew. He noticed before she did, that her middle was beginning to swell.

The first thing she noticed was the insatiable thirst. It got to the point where she would carry a bag on her belt, right alongside the dagger, which contained a flask of water. This way, she could venture out further into the world for longer periods of time without getting dehydrated. Then, it was the hunger. The nausea had gradually diminished - ever since her arrival - and now she was always hungry. There were so many delicious things here, available anytime, day or night... and it was definitely taking its toll on her figure. Neither she nor Loki had a good idea of when she would start to show, but she did begin to get some noticeable fat around her belly. She hated it, of course, but the hunger was too much to ignore. Loki isn't helping, she thought. If she was missing a particular earthly food, she had only to mention it to him and he would have it made to her description. It would always taste different - especially things which were usually fried or overly-processed on Earth - but she didn't mind too much. As long as it was basically the same, it would satisfy her craving for it. The sets of light armor that she loved and wore every day, fortunately, were leather, and not metal like Sif's. But soon, she thought, she'd have to give them up.

One night, she woke up suddenly dripping with sweat. The fluffy cotton comforter she'd asked for had long since been banished to the floor. This wasn't the first time it had happened, but this time it was worse, by far. Her eyes stung, both from lack of sleep and from the drops that occasionally fell into them. And of course, now she had to pee. On the way to do that, she passed the mirror and stopped to look at herself. She sighed. Her stomach looked like it could be a little bit of a baby bump, maybe. Or it could just be a bunch of fatty fat from all the random crap she'd been eating! Even naked, the evidence was inconclusive. She continued on her mission, and afterwards washed her face and brushed the damp locks of hair off of it. She had planned to go back to bed, but she paused in the middle of the room. She went to the dresser and threw on a long, pastel blue tunic. What more perfect time was there than 3am to go and have a private conversation with Loki, she asked herself. This was probably his fault anyway.

By the time she got to his chambers, she was sweaty again. She knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked harder, putting some of her frustration into it this time. He opened the door very slowly, much of his black hair in waves over his face, and an exhausted expression behind it. But as soon as it sunk in who it was that was standing there, his eyes opened all the way, and so did the door. He was wearing only his thin green pants, and was conspicuously shirtless. Fuck, that bastard is hot, she thought. She wanted to jump his bones even now.

His voice wasn't as alert as he was. "What is the matter, pet? Please come in. What is wrong?"

She stepped inside. Not even the passing night guards would be able to hear them speak in here. "What is this?" She opened her arms to show him all of her already-damp tunic. "Never in my life have I felt so hot, so often. It started months ago... but it just keeps getting worse. Now it's keeping me awake. And something tells me that _you_ might know how to fix it."

Loki lightly chuckled as he closed the door. "I thought this a possibility. I'm afraid there is nothing to be done. The child..." He paused a moment, all of a sudden fascinated by her stomach. She became aware of exactly how visible the small protrusion was now, with the thin, wet fabric clinging to it. She pulled it away from it quickly. He'd seen her naked several times, yes, but that made her no less self-conscious about the way she looked right now. At that, Loki grinned. "The child may not be entirely jotun, but he most likely has little tolerance for heat. I myself prefer the cold. He has no way to control his temperature. Except, that is, to control yours."

She held her hands up together, indicating with her fingers, a few inches of space between them."You do realize he's this big, right? How can something that barely exists even do that?"

He shrugged. "It is instinctive."

She sighed. It didn't make perfect sense from a biologist's point of view. But, it didn't need to. The fact that it involved an unknown species nullified all previously-applied limits. "So... this won't happen, if I just keep my body cold enough for the baby to be comfortable."

"Yes, pet."

"Am I going to be this hungry the entire time? The amount of food I've been eating, and the variety... I hate hazelnuts, and hazelnut-flavored everything! But damned if I don't crave them. I understand, that I'm pregnant, but... I'm eating you out of house and home."

He furrowed his brow. "It is likely that it will get much worse." He circled around her, eyes fixating on each part of her body briefly as he passed. Then he took a step closer, and gently wrapped his arms around her. She was so flustered that she flinched at the unexpected touch. But his skin was so much cooler than hers, and unexpectedly soothing. She relaxed, leaning back onto his firm, slightly warmer chest. It was still colder than she was, and the embrace felt so nice. He patiently explained things from above her head. "Your body is making something very unique." He carefully placed a hand on her barely-formed bump. "Something beautiful. It is going to take considerably more energy and effort than it is used to exerting, every single day, for two years." She grabbed his hand, intending to pull it away, but she didn't go through with it. His affection was welcome, no matter what the actual intentions were behind it.

He moved his hand from her stomach to her chest. "Your heart beats faster already, to provide for him. We should wait no longer. You will receive your new heart tomorrow."

She looked up and pulled away from him just enough to see his face. "Did they... grow me a new one? Is that what you meant by 'the process'?"

"They did. It is of your own blood. It's been ready for you for several days. I would have taken you sooner, but we needed to be established as a couple, first. I will need to be present during the entire procedure, and will allow no other to do so. Should anything go wrong, only I can help them correct it."

Despite still being a bit warm, she felt her blood run cold. "The procedure? Your people still perform surgeries? I thought... no offense, but I thought it would be more advanced than that."

He looked down at her sideways, with a sleepy but curious smile. "In what other way would you propose to repair or replace something which is inside of a weakened one's body?"

She couldn't think of a response. She couldn't think of anything but the prospect of having a major surgery performed, by strange people - the same ones that could fall from an airplane and survive - and being asleep, completely helpless, unable to prevent any of the many, many things that could go wrong. She pushed away from him, threw up her hands and raised her voice in frustration. "I don't know, Loki! How the fuck am I supposed to know what's possible anymore?" At first he looked perplexed, but he raised an eyebrow and gave her a warning look, when she began to outright yell at him. "I'm carrying a half-alien baby! Every day I'm eating... _impossible_ amounts of food to support it. And frankly, I didn't _want_ to be a mother; not ever!" She suddenly closed her mouth, seething in silence instead. She plopped down onto his bed.

The candid statement surprised him. He could understand not wanting to mother her former captor's child. But why not at all? She may not be strong in form, he thought, but she's unnaturally strong-willed, for her race. She's intelligent, and - aside from her half-heart - in good health. She's more than capable of bearing children. He needed to understand her anger. So, at the risk of additional provocation, he asked her. He kept his inquiry short. "Why?"

She scowled at him relentlessly for several minutes. He confidently locked eyes with her, as he sat beside her on the bed. He wished to convey only interest. She calmed herself, and finally gave him his answer. "No child deserves me." She averted her eyes. "I can't raise one; I can't show it how to survive. I've always... sucked at life!" Angry tears fought their way into her eyes, but not her voice. "I failed the course! And I should've been booted from it. I _should have died_ that day." She gradually lowered her head, her mind overwhelmed by emotion.

He folded his hands in his lap. He absorbed her words for a moment, then nodded to himself acceptingly. "Our similarities never fail to surprise me, Sara. Yours is a feeling with which I am intimately familiar. Weakness. But, I have the answer for it. Would you like to hear it?"

She glanced at him with desperation in her eyes, but quickly turned away again. He had stumbled across the true source of her torment. It was that vapid image of the worthy, that her race was so fond of. As were many. Alluring as it was, its pursuit always led them to mental, and therefore social, destruction, at the hands of inevitable failure. 'Survival of the fittest', he believed, was their version of the lie.

He looked ahead as he spoke. "It's quite simple, actually. You needn't fail a test you cannot pass. _Cheat_." He leaned over to see the eyes that hid behind that light blonde curtain of hair. "You've _cheated death_. And now you've fallen victim to the idea that you must compensate for it. With loyalty. Honesty. Virtue. Honor." He opened his arms, emphasizing the next point. "But these are naught but society's grand illusions! They are neither beneficial nor worthy of admiration. We craft them ourselves, out of instinct, because they eliminate the weak of mind. Such paths are readily laid before you. But if you diverge from them, and venture far into the darkness which they fear... _that_ , is where true power and strength lie."

She raised her head a little. Power and strength. An oversimplified way to put it, but it _was_ what she wanted. That was where the bitterness she'd always carried around was coming from. There was an underlying feeling that she _shouldn't have_ to constantly have things taken from her, and least of all her life...

He decided to attempt comfort her, silently, letting his very important words sink in. He moved closer, and quickly pulled her over and into his arms. It worked. She tensed, but rather than struggle out of it, she simply laid her head onto his chest.

"Sara... I'm sorry... I cannot help but sense your fear. Tell me," he urged. "What is it that truly bothers you?"

She put the subject of morals out of her mind for now, to focus on the problem at hand. "I didn't know about your technology. I'm sure it's not as damaging to the body here as it is on Midgard. There, it would harm the baby..."

"As I've said, it will not. You will return to full health too quickly to pose a threat."

"But still, it means... they'll have to put me out for it."

"For a while, yes."

She lowered her head, hiding her face in his arm. Her voice now muffled, she reluctantly said, "I can't... I... may need your help with that."

He took a deep breath, and his voice softened. "Yes, of course. Your fear of losing control. Oh, dear." He sounded less concerned about it than she would have liked. "Losing consciousness is quite the epitome of that, isn't it?"

Her stupid shaking wouldn't even be perceptible, she thought, if he wasn't touching her all over.

"But you must try not to panic for them, pet."

She offered no response. He sighed. "If you truly cannot, then yes, I will help you."

She let go of his arm and looked up at him to make sure he understood what she was asking. The smug smile on his lips said he did. It seemed to have its benefits, but she never thought anything would ever make her want to _ask_ him to use his... skills, on her. But even before the attack, she'd never been able to bring herself to allow someone to put her under, not for anything. And now, it was unavoidable. She needed that heart. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"You need not thank me for this. Ensuring that you receive your new heart is part of our bargain. Now. Return to your chambers. Open the windows. It's quite cool outside tonight, this should be more than enough to appease our child. Get some rest."

Getting some answers had placated her mind enough to let the exhaustion take it over again. She left without a word, yawning as she closed the door behind her. She did as he'd said, not even caring if anyone could see into said windows now, as she took off her tunic and crawled back into bed.

The next morning, Sara did not wake early. A few hours into the morning, he decided to check on her. But he did not wish to disturb her if she needed the rest. He stood at her door, looking both ways down the hall, before moving his fingers slightly at the air near the lock. He'd done this so many times that he was able to keep it quiet now, as the parts inside repositioned. He opened the door and silently approached the crumpled form on the bed. She must be very warm still, he surmised, as she wore neither blankets nor clothing. He could not help but wonder how she'd managed to wear her armor for this long. Her middle was more swollen than he'd estimated, and her breasts were considerably larger. He laughed quietly to himself as he pictured her stuffing herself into the unforgiving leather cuirass. Her stubbornness was a never-ending source of amusement.

He left in silence, and locked the door again.

He returned when it was nearly mid-day. He knocked and inquired, "Lady Iversen?"

The voice was so soft that he could barely hear it at all. She'd apparently figured out his range of hearing. "I'm here. Come in."

The door was unlocked now, but she'd done little else. The bed was still in disarray, and she sat at the end of it, wearing only the thin blue tunic again, all her hair stuck to the side that she had slept on. She was lost in thought, and looking frightened.

As he approached, he said, "Are you not anxious to receive your heart? You will feel much better afterwards..." He paused, but there was no reply. "...you must know this. I've seen you at certain times, when you exert yourself. You grasp at your chest in pain."

"You're right," she uttered despondently. But then she rose from the bed, much stronger in speech. "And... I can do this."

He smiled. "Then let us delay no further."

Eyes still wide with fear, she explained, "I've never done anything like this before." She looked down, remembering. "Not on purpose, anyway. What... um... what all do I have to do?"

"You need only to come with me. Come as you are; you will desire comfortable clothing. And trust me, pet. Neither you nor the child will come to harm."

She insisted on brushing her hair and washing before they left. But she was focused and silent the entire way to the healers' building. Trust him. He kept saying that.

At least it didn't look anything like a hospital, she thought. It was more like someone's home, with all the open space, and even the warm glow of a fire from behind some beautiful metal-work on the wall. But when she saw the table in the center of the room, the nervousness began to escalate. She quickly shut it down, and sat there anyway, in self-defiance.

He put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, then left the room. She sat there for a minute, while the senseless fear continued its assault on her, unimpeded by distractions. She wanted, so badly, to run.

She was moving around again, finding and inspecting things, by the time he returned with a group of healers. She was holding what she hoped wasn't a bone saw, as it looked... ah... well-used. But, then again, these people didn't have to worry about infections, blood clots... probably not much of anything, she reminded herself. She practically dropped it, though, when she saw what came in next. A large, clear box, edged with gold, handles on either side for two very strong-looking assistants to carry it by. It contained a clear fluid and in the center, suspended by nothing, a fully-formed heart.

I'm willing to call some of that 'magic', she decided. More assistants followed with vials and tables, boxes and instruments. The instruments were surrounded by that substance, as well. Her apprehension returned full-force.

The leading healer stepped in front of Loki. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess. His Majesty the king, and Prince Loki, have both said much about you these past months. I am Halldora, and this is my assistant, Geisli." The younger, kind-faced oss behind them smiled and bowed briefly.

Princess. I suppose that is my title now, she thought. Did not sound right for her at all. She gave him a weak smile back. Her voice would only have betrayed her growing fears.

The healer must have detected them anyway. She spoke with confidence. "Not to worry, Princess. We specialize in healing the members of other races. We have the knowledge of Midgard's best healers, and more."

Loki lent his confidence. "I have placed you in good hands, pet."

"We will give you privacy. Please remove your clothing. You may cover yourself with this." She handed her a thin white blanket. "When you are ready, let us know."

She kept her responses simple. She was thinking of other things. "Okay."

Halldora raised her hands, and a golden, line-woven force field - just like the one in the prison - raised up from the floor to the ceiling, about ten feet out from the bed on all sides. She touched it and it went from translucent to a brightly-glowing opaque. They all filed out through it, Loki having to be tapped on the shoulder by Geisli to break his attentive stare. At this moment, she was glad she'd warned him of her hesitation. It was strangely comforting that he showed such concern, she thought, as she did as instructed. She sat on the table again, wrapped up in the blanket, and made an attempt at friendlier words. "Ready as I'll ever be," she said quietly.

Only Loki and two healers reappeared. Halldora performed several movements with her fingers and the field's glow increased enough to brightly light the entire room. At the same time, she could feel and... smell, the air being removed from the room. The faint smell of the fire and of Loki, who was standing close to her again, left. She eyed everyone there nervously.

"It is only the purification process," Geisli assured her. "For species such as yours with weak immune systems, we remove all particles and contaminants from the surfaces and the air." He was watching Halldora closely. He took some steps towards her - away from his boss - and spoke quietly. "Forgive my curiosity, Milady, but Halldora never told me... what happened to your heart?"

She mindlessly recited short-version number seventy-two of the story for him. "It was stabbed. Several times. So deeply, and in such close proximity, that it hamburgered the entire right side."

Geisli was thoroughly confused. "Hamburgered?" Loki snickered at that. Thanks to her cravings, he knew exactly what the substance 'hamburger' was... and looked like.

Halldora came over and placed a pillow on the table. "Please, lie down."

She forced herself to comply with their every request. She was determined to get through this. But her faulty heart was pounding, and the irrational fear of what was to come was seeping in, no matter how many ways she tried to keep it at bay. Though he stood close by, from the table, the lights were so blinding she could barely see the outline of Loki's smoothed-back hair. He leaned down by her ear and said with dramatic caution, "I may touch you now, yes?" She giggled weakly, and he put his hand on hers.

Geisli's cheerful face appeared over hers. He held up a vial of green liquid so she could see it. "This will render you unconscious, throughout the procedure. When inhaled, its effects are quick and certain. I will place a cloth around your neck, and keep it saturated, so that you continue to breathe it in. When we're finished - and you are completely healed - we will remove it. A few hours later, you will wake."

"What is it?" she asked, curiosity a welcome distraction.

"It is... many things," he laughed. "It has been used for centuries with no ill effect. Some of the ingredients even originated from Midgard."

"Really," she said. She ran through all the earthly things she knew of with similar properties. There were a lot. Then she felt a soft cloth being applied to her neck. She jumped, her breathing now heavy and fast.

"All is _well_ ," Loki soothed. "I will allow no harm to come to you. You know that you must sleep for this. And I will be here when you wake."

She heard the sound of the small vial being uncorked. Her stomach burned, and her blood ran cold. She willed herself to stay still. But when it came into view, she lost the battle, and fear took over. She heard herself yelling, "No! I can't do this..." and she tried to sit up from the table, only to be pushed back down gently by strong hands. A smooth, urgent voice worked its way past her panic. "There is nothing to fear, pet. Please be calm."

She began to shake. "I can't! Loki..."

"You must!" he said firmly. She closed her eyes and seemed to be trying, but she only succeeded in shaking more violently.

Geisli had been informed of her fears of course, but even he, with his high spirits, was concerned. He stopped and looked to Loki, whose much larger hand was wrapping all the way around and squeezing hers. He seemed to be giving her time to calm herself. But the other hand still weighted down her chest. Now she was whispering 'no', over and over to herself. Fighting her own mind. When Loki finally glanced up from her, he found that Geisli had been staring, deliberately. Loki cast his gaze back down, and thought for a moment. Then softly, he said, "Look at me."

She did her best to obey, unable to see much through the light and the blur of her tears. But when she saw him she couldn't help but close her eyes again, ashamed.

She felt drops of liquid hitting the cloth, and a strong smell reached her nose... pine? eucalyptus? No, it was more like camphor, she remembered, through the thickening haze.

Fear gripped her throat and she gasped, ripping her hand out of his to place her elbows on the table and get up. But she was held down again. Loki repeated his command, "Sara, look at me!" She did. He wiped the tears from her eyes, then held the back of her head in place, stroking her hair with long fingers, and nodded slightly to the assistant.

He focused on her, his calm, determined mind invading hers. His eyes were so beautiful... entrancing. She felt like she couldn't look away from them, or think of anything else, and her body agreed. It relaxed completely, as darkness crept in from the edge of her vision. All she could see then was those eyes, full of power, and she barely noticed as her mind quietly slipped away.


	14. Defense

Loki had felt something this time, when he'd touched her mind. He righted himself and took a step back. Then, certain that she was no longer conscious, he looked to the healers and motioned towards her. He moved to the end of the bed, by her head, and carefully observed them as they prepared her limp, fragile body for the procedure. The draw to her was getting stronger, and more defined. He pondered it while he watched. It reminded him strongly of what he'd felt from his mother whenever she'd spoken of Odin. Still, "love" was an abstract concept, one that he didn't have a specific definition for. He had a personal rule for dealing with things that he didn't understand.

He hoped that by now, she was at least convinced that he cared for her. That was what was important. He'd not yet lied to her. That should be proof enough, he thought. Though, he'd come close to it, several times. It depended on one's definition of 'lie'. He gently pulled her soft, silvery hair out from under her back, letting it fall over the edge of the table, out of harm's way. The untold truth was that he wasn't here (only) out of concern for her safety. He was here to ensure that the soul forge showed no child. He'd no idea how detailed it was for these things. But he simply could not take that risk. The healers were more knowledgeable than most, and it was far too soon. Once he was king, it would no longer matter.

Halldora activated it, and it drew a topographical map of her body. Just before the child may have appeared, he replaced the image. Not even he would be able to see - though he always could sense his energy. He desired nothing more than to see his heir with his own eyes at this moment, but sadly, he was no healer. He did not know how to use the device.

He monitored the rest of the procedure from afar so as not to hinder their progress. However, when they pulled from her body the artificially-augmented heart, his curiosity got the better of him. He stepped in and peered over Halldora's shoulder to see it. The item responsible for his lack of control over her. The same which had granted SHIELD control first. It made her the combative agent that he once used, in more ways than one. Halldora's gloved hand concealed the natural half of the heart - as she, too, had paused to look at the strange technology. It was by far the most complex-looking device he'd seen come out of Midgard. More complex, in fact, than was necessary to _only_ replace half a heart...

Sara came back to the world with her eyes closed, the eyelids too heavy to move. She felt a pain in her chest, and a softness covering her body. Fur? A fur blanket, she decided.

Why was she so cold? The pain reminded her of its presence. It was extreme pressure; she could barely inhale breath, along with a sharper, outer pain each time she did. Her thoughts were still surrounded by a thick fog.. no, a fuzz. Soft, furry fuzz, she thought... just like her body was.

After several minutes of trying and failing to collect her mental faculties, she was finally able to crack open her eyes. It wasn't completely dark in the room, but it was much darker than before... before! The lights, the panic, she was so ashamed of herself. She heard a rustling by her side, and rolled her head that way to see Loki lean forward and watch her intently. "I'm sorry," she said through the haze. "I'm sorry; I'm so weak; I'm so sorry..."

He stopped her babbling by speaking to her very softly - likely a reassurance that he was real. She'd spoken, but looked at him as if he weren't there at all. "It was no trouble, pet. My only concern was putting an end to your stress, for our child."

"I know. Thank you. I'm sorry," she whispered, as her eyes filled with tears.

He reached under the blanket and found her hand again, clasping it in both of his, and soothed her. "Shhh..." This was what she needed right now. To rest. He watched her eyes slowly close again, as she gave up her fight for consciousness, somewhat voluntarily this time.

She woke in the middle of night, very urgently having to pee. It was completely dark this time, except for the glow of the fire. The walls were once again clear, but she saw nobody. "Loki?"

Halldora wandered in. "He will return soon, my lady. How do you feel?"

"There's some pain," she said, still a little dazed. "But I have really got to pee..." she emphasized.

The corners of Halldora's lips turned up just slightly - probably the best smile the stern asynjur had to offer, she thought. "I am not surprised. You slept for days."

Sara put her hands on the table and sat up. Halldora retrieved her tunic and placed it, neatly folded, by her side. Her arms shook in their struggle to keep her from falling back down. "Slowly, child," she told her. "Take your time." She took her advice, having to make herself move excruciatingly slowly, but it worked. Eventually she'd pushed away the blanket and she reapplied the tunic, glad to be clothed again.

Somehow she knew the moment Loki entered the room. In her mind she got a flash; an image from a new perspective - like she was right in front of him as he approached... then it was gone. "Loki!" she said happily, but lacking a voice to match. She put her feet on the floor and stood to meet him, but she fell backwards, catching herself on the bed instead. Loki rushed forward just a second too late, but he helped her to her feet.

His gorgeous voice was full of concern. "What still ails her, Halldora?"

"Only disorientation - and a widespread bodily weakness, it would appear. Her other muscles and organs must adjust to the difference in blood pressure. She should remain here until this happens. But I assure you she will recover quickly, My Prince. Our work was quite flawless."

She took a step away from the bed, as Loki held her steady. A wave of pain spread through her, but she ignored it... until it returned, intensifying the pressure in her chest. She stopped and put a hand on it. There was no scar! Amazing, she thought, as the pressure subsided. She wanted to ask Halldora a whole lot of questions, but only succeeded in looking back at her expectantly. She pointed to a door-panel on the other side of the room, and Loki removed his hands, grinning and offering her his arm promenade-style instead. They made their way there with some semblance of dignity, as fast as her body would allow.

Having no other pressing needs, Sara was happy to sit down on the bed again. Her whole body felt dead. Every little movement was a monumental effort. Loki had, at some point, acquired a chair, and put it next to the bed so he could watch her. There was a tall stack of books on the floor next to it. She tried to make out some of the titles, but decided to settle for the joy of not having to use her legs anymore, for now. After what seemed like only a minute or two, his face went from fascinated to concerned. "Sara. Come back to me, Sara," he demanded. She snapped out of a daze and it occurred to her that he had been talking to her this entire time. "You _must_ lie down. You will fall if you continue to try to sit." They were alone again, and he was holding her arm rather tightly.

"Loki,"she started, but then winced as another wave of pain distracted her from her words.

"Yes?"

She shook her head a little.. "I'm just so _tired_."

He helped her lower herself back down, and covered her with the blanket. She smiled. "At least I'm not hot anymore."

He stared, then smiled back, weakly. "For now. Once you are well again, I'm sure he will remind you of his discomfort." He stroked her hair slowly, just barely brushing the skin as he did. In no time at all, she fell into a blissfully pain-free sleep.

She woke again feeling much better. She was warm - bordering on hot, and she hoped that removing the blanket would be enough to stop that chain-reaction from happening again. She wasn't tired anymore - though she had no idea how long she'd been sleeping this time. There was no sunlight in this room, ever. Depressing. She wondered how long she'd have to stay here. Suddenly her mind was taken over by a very vivid image of the balcony outside of her room, a cool wind whisking away the heat from her body. But she wasn't there. She was here, she had to remind herself, curiously. She sat up... easier to do so, but even at this amazing rate of recovery from a whole heart surgery, it would be a couple of days.

There was no Loki this time. But there was now a table next to the bed, and on it was a frosty-looking mug full of something. She leaned over and picked it up, carefully, unsure of her strength anymore. It was her favorite cider. And she was possibly more thirsty than she'd ever been in her life. She drank it all. It was ice-cold, and it cooled her down quite a bit.

"You must have been a formidable drinking rival," Loki teased as he came back into the room.

She sighed in relief as she set the mug back down. "The things which transpired when I participated in a drinking contest, Prince, could only be described as 'epic'." She furrowed her brow. "You didn't see any of that, while you were watching me?"

He chuckled lightly. "No. I did not see everything, and I... encouraged the cessation, of that desire, the moment that I knew of my child."

She put a hand on her slightly-bigger belly. "I figured as much."

She accepted the idea of his mental meddling much more readily this time, he thought. A change which he attributed to her finally experiencing the _benefits_ of his skills...

He noticed she'd grown very quiet, deep in thought, as he came to stand by her side. He peered down into the mug. "I will have someone fetch you more cider." He reached for it.

She snapped out of it. "No, wait. I have something that I really need to talk to you about."

Able to perceive the slight hint of concern in her voice, he removed his hand from it and raised his head to listen.

She sighed. "This would sound crazy to a normal person..." She was still searching for the words to best describe the flashes. Who knows, she thought. In this strange place they might be something real. Possibly dangerous.

"What is it, pet?"

"Ever since I woke up I feel... displaced. Like I'm not really here. The feeling comes and goes. And - with you being the go-to suspect for this type of thing - I couldn't help but notice that when _you're_ here, it gets worse. I feel like a part of me is everywhere, all at once. And I keep getting these flashes..." She closed her eyes, remembering. "They're not memories... My consciousness right now has different _perspectives_... from here, from beside you, from rooms in the Hall of Asgard..." For the briefest moment she thought she saw fear in his eyes. She figured she'd imagined it though. Loki feared nothing.

"Your mind toys with you," was all he offered for explanation.

"Really? Because it feels more real than that. When I brought up the... whatever it was, that I was getting off of the Tesseract, you said _that_ was real..."

He looked her in the eyes, and said very simply, "I know not of these things."

She stared for a minute, trying to discern whether this meant that she was finally losing her mind... or that Loki was lying to her. Unable to do so, she gave up - for the moment. She slid off the bed instead. Immediately he offered her his hand, but she refused. She stood on her own almost easily this time, and made her way once again to the washroom.

Just as Halldora had said, the recovery was quick. Little by little, she regained her strength and energy, and then she kept on going! It was strange and wonderful, to have become so used to operating with dysfunctional parts, and then to be reminded of what she once had been. If this had been done on Earth, she thought, the recovery would have taken months. But here, in a few short days, it felt as if her heart had never been damaged at all. She still felt different in her head - kept feeling slightly out-of-tune with reality. Or maybe just the opposite... she didn't know. But it was very slight, and only occurred when there was nothing else more important to think about. It wasn't even worth mentioning to the healers. They gave her the okay to return to her room.

When she walked in, the first thing she noticed was her leather armor... but not quite, she could tell, as she moved towards it and looked more closely. It was basically the same, but composed a little differently. She picked up the ensemble and turned it over in her hands. The white leather faulds were now attached, not on a belt to be worn under, but sewn in the same places they fell before, along and under the bottom edge of the cuirass... which was now cut down the middle of the back, and expertly laced back up with a tough-looking golden string. It was like a corset, but there was so much string that it would allow for her growth, no matter how big her belly got. She stretched it out all the way and watched the silky string slide through the gold eyelets with ease. She could be pregnant with multiples and still be able to wear this! She shuddered at the thought.

There were extra faulds neatly stacked next to it, for the time when they'd be needed to cover the gap in the back, she figured. Beside them, a new pair of pants - which were already stretchy to begin with - and her silk under-tunic had been switched with one of incredible stretchiness, soft, and so thin and light that it was almost see-through. Breathable. Perfect. She almost hadn't noticed the switch at all, because he'd somehow managed to match the exact same shade of green.

At some point he'd cleaned - or had someone else clean - the blood and dirt off her white boots. She smiled. Then she noticed there were two more identical sets behind her on the dresser.

It was only weeks before she found herself trying things on each morning, and feeling much more comfortable in the new one. And at that point, she was not the only one to notice her expanding middle.

"She doesn't look like any of the other,more gluttonous Midgardians that I have seen... few as they were."

"But she consumes more food each night than the warriors she sits with! She is so small. Where does it all go?"

Nice, she said to herself. They think I'm just getting fat.

"I hear she is with child."

She devoted all of her attention to that one. She made sure not to be perceived as listening in, as the two asynjur spoke.

"Already?"

"Prince Loki does little else anymore. He dotes on her incessantly. I have even seen him spy on her when she's not aware."

Noted.

"But if that is the case, it is already visible on her..."

"He must have bedded her shortly after he arrived. I hear it's not uncommon in Midgardian 'culture'..." The other one giggled. "I use the term loosely, of course."

Rude. How could anyone have considered you people gods? She controlled her urge to say it out loud. She had all the intelligence she needed. Word was out amongst the observant, and they believed what she and Loki had wanted them to. She left the scene in a huff.

Despite what some said, the majority of them were actually more kind than before. Sif had gradually, tactfully explained to her that to the younger generations, cross-breeding was generally frowned upon. In Odin's time, apparently, it happened all the time. Despite Loki's assurances, she figured it wouldn't be a good idea to go around announcing it, just in case someone would find the timing suspicious. She kept quiet about it, and acted normally. But whenever a friend would notice her bump - more and more frequently since she'd made the switch to what she now called her 'reverse corset' - their reaction was either happiness, or false happiness with a bit of awkwardness and uncertainty. The latter would avoid touching her at all costs, like she was extra-breakable now. It was kind of funny.

She wasn't sure if she really did have enemies here, as Loki had suggested. But she wanted to carry the dagger anyway, and the water flask... well, always. So one day, after getting dressed, she stood in front of the drawer where she'd put the dagger's new belt. Longer. As if he'd expected her to wear it all the same. She scoffed. Then she thought for a minute. Loki had no belt. Where did he keep his weapons? She sighed. In the mysterious folds of his coat. Hm. But the image of him she'd brought up gave her an idea. She threaded the sheath and flask onto the belt, buckled the ends together and swung it over her left arm and head, letting it fall across her diagonally, and neatly avoiding her belly. "And that, ladies and gents, is how it's done", she said to no one.

Loki had enjoyed the mental respite while she'd calmly wandered the halls and yard, adjusting to her new state of health... but alas, it was short-lived. The ever-restless mortal was everywhere again in a matter of days. She seemed to have much more energy than before, driving her to seek out more physical activity. He said nothing of this, but for his own peace of mind he found himself checking on her more frequently. He knew he could not stop her wanderings - not without breaking one of his promises. Also, the exercise was beneficial, to both mother and child.

Despite her unpredictability, and a wide range of day-to-day travel, he had little difficulty finding her. The only provision in their bargain regarding magic was that he refrain from using it on her. Nothing had been said of its use to _detect_ her.

Ever since the match which had been interrupted by Loki's proposal, Fandral seemed to consider himself Sara's new best friend. Unlike most Asgardians, he had a sense of humor. And he treated her no differently from his other friends. Perhaps it was easier for him because he touted himself as such a ladies-man, an expert on females of all species. Whatever his motivations, as long as he continued to be kind - and made none of his suave moves on her - he would serve as a good substitute for Sif while she was away. His weapon of choice was the sword, but she wasn't quite ready for that yet, so he stuck to his daggers, and was skilled enough in both to even teach her a thing or two past what Sif had, explained from a new perspective.

He was being especially quick, and _tricky_ one morning - a particularly irritating specialty, which he employed more often as of late. And even as sharp as she'd been feeling, she still was having a hard time keeping eyes on him. So she decided to stop using her eyes. She feigned a failing move, let him get behind her, then, hearing just one footfall, she whipped around to exactly where he was with a low distracting hit and a high-arcing strike to the neck. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Loki caught both wrists. Fandral stood far to the left of him, looking surprised... the sneaky bastard. Loki smiled politely. "I would say good morning to you too, Princess." He was effortlessly holding her in place, the dagger poised above them. "May I have this dance?"

She twisted and pulled her hands away, knowing full well he'd allowed her to do so. "I don't dance."

He raised his head and assumed a regal posture. "Perhaps it is time that we taught you, then. How would you like to learn some more... _advanced_ skills, with that dagger of yours?" He looked to his side, then turned to apologize to Fandral. "No offense to your current instructor - "

"None taken," he interrupted, a wily smirk on his face. He motioned towards them dismissively. "This shall be a rare treat indeed, to behold the master in his element." He casually strode away, and found a seat amongst the large rocks that lined that side of the field, many of which were already occupied by their previous audience. Though, she noticed now, that several of them had gone missing since Loki's arrival...

She squinted at him, intrigued. Then a thought dimmed much of that interest. She looked down and put a hand on her belly. "What's the point? I won't have time to get to any good level of skill, before I - um - can't really fight anymore."

He shook his head. "Under me, you will not only gain the ability to defend yourself and others. You will be able to compensate for any change in form... just as I do." He pulled two of his own daggers from his coat. He smiled at her and tossed them both, spinning, into the air. In a flash of green light, he took another form. It was _her_. A perfect copy of her as she currently stood, baby bump and all. He expertly caught the falling daggers despite his much shorter stance and small hands. He hadn't even looked away from her to do this.

She fell backwards a step, looking 'her' over, bewildered. Then she closed her eyes, and applied a sweaty hand to her head. "Could you... _not_..."

He laughed in genuine amusement, and when she looked up he was himself again. He stepped forward and bent slightly, putting his face close to hers. His eyes glowed with anticipation. "Are you ready, pet?"

She met him with a steely gaze, and flipped the dagger over in her hand. "Oh I'm more than ready, Dagger-Master. I'm _excited_."

He righted himself, barely hiding a satisfied smirk. "Good. But first, there are some things that you must know."

As he spoke, the unnamed force which was constantly fucking with her head thought it would be fun to put her perspective right behind him. She was thinking of taking him by surprise; proving that she already had some skill and didn't need to be preached at for this. Then a dagger cut through the air, missing her ear by an inch, instantly bringing her back. "Heed my words!" Loki ordered. He looked past her to where he'd thrown it and lightly snapped his fingers. She'd planned to apologize and get it for him, but when she turned to look, it was gone.

She focused on him. "Sorry..." Then she raised an eyebrow and smiled. "So is there going to be a test?"

His annoyed expression broke into a devious grin. "Of course." Her smile faded as she tried to figure out if he was serious about that.

He paced around the yard slowly, hands behind his back. "First: If you are to engage in close combat with hand weapons, you are very likely, at some point, to be cut. Know this. Accept it. You must always be able to move on from an injury without hesitation, and continue fighting. If your opponent intends to harm you, and makes his strike, he will not stop at that once you are down. Especially if it is apparent that you know the art as well."

She glanced in the general direction of the people... noone in particular. "Who would attack me?"

He paused a moment and angled his head at her as their stares met. "Anyone. Now that you are in a position of power, however unlikely it seems, there is always the possibility of enemies."

"Like I needed another reason to be all jumpy and hyper-aware of my surroundings," she grumbled.

"Second: There are very few elements in these realms which can deal damage to aesir." With lightning speed he grabbed her wrist and removed the dagger from it. He shook it at her. "This... is made of one of them. And you must always guard it. I will have made more for you, but for now, it is your only lifeline in this realm. That is, unless you manage to deprive another oss of his weapon."

"So... when I threatened you with the knife... you - "

"You could not have seriously harmed me. No."

"What determines whether something does damage to you guys?"

"There are several factors involved." For the first time, he glanced around to see who was listening. More commoners were now joining the existing few, whispering amongst themselves, all eyes on Loki. "We _can_ be harmed by any weapon, just as you. But you do not possess the necessary strength." He held out the dagger for her across his fingers. "This is no ordinary dagger. You may have noticed that it draws some attention to itself. This is because of the runes on the handle. Most will recognize them as at least some sort of powerful enchantment."

She had noticed that. She took it back, looking at it with uncertainty now. "Magic."

"Essentially. In your hand, it will do the same amount of harm to an oss as a mundane weapon would to a human, if not more."

"What would it do to a human?"

He hesitated, then failed to hide an evil grin. "It would disassemble them with greater ease than you have surely ever had cause to imagine."

She smiled too, inclined to try and imagine it anyway. Not that she would ever use it on another human, of course.

"Third: Never take your eyes off of your opponent..."

She nodded. "Hai Sensei!"

He held his head high and squinted at her. He was fairly certain that was some sort of mild insult. But he ignored it. "Are you always this disrespectful to your superiors?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much. Why do you think they stuck me in Science Division instead?" She pointed at herself with both hand and dagger. "Not a good soldier."

He conceded to that, dipping his head in agreement. "Indeed. You will be a challenge. However... so was I."

He continued, as if uninterrupted. "Any sleight of hand will take place using the weapon as a distraction. It is natural to try to avoid a sharp object. Do not focus on it, or _any_ single aspect of the encounter, no matter how important it seems. You must maintain awareness of all of your surroundings, at all times."

She nodded, attentively. He silently studied her for a moment. "Now." He put a hand on his chest. "I am your enemy here. I intend to take the princess hostage. Defend yourself."

She almost didn't notice him quickly, covertly draw a dagger during the moment their eyes were locked, and put it behind his back with the other hand. He moved into range and grabbed for her arm. She responded by deflecting it upward with her off-hand. Immediately he brought forth the dagger, but by then she was already reaching for hers... which was gone. He held it above her with the hand she'd been sure was unarmed, brought it down swiftly, and before she could react - and with a triumphant grin - touched the inner shoulder of her armor with it. He withdrew, and handed her back her weapon.

"You saw my very first move not clearly, but with peripheral vision. Since your mind wasn't expecting it, it didn't perceive that I had already taken your dagger. You would've had to be looking directly at it for that, however briefly. Now, why weren't you seeing all of your surroundings?"

She pressed her lips together, then remembered. "I was watching your concealed hand."

He nodded curtly. "Maintain awareness of all of your surroundings," he reiterated. He looked around them as if to prove the point. There was a large crowd of people now. They kept a much more respectful distance, she noticed, from Loki. All except for one well-armored, red-caped individual, by the name of Thor. He stood closest, watching every move, every expression, every breath of hers, with a big crinkly-eyed smile on his face.

Loki raised his eyebrows and held his chin high. He motioned for her to continue. "Again."

This time when he reached, she split her attention between that and everything else. She dodged far to the side, out of that arm's reach. He drew back his dagger at shoulder-level and eyed her, threatening a high strike. She feigned the start of a disarming move, but when he turned and reached for her shoulder with the free hand, she ducked down low and stepped the opposite way, quickly putting her on his unguarded side. She deftly struck the now-exposed ribcage. But he was too fast, whipping his arm back and taking her wrist before she could escape. He pulled her forward and up to full height with it. He disabled the free arm by slicing deep into it... and then it began to bleed! She was stunned for a split-second, not able to properly counter as he wrapped her own arm around her head, spun her around with it, pulled her into him, and put the bloodied dagger at her throat. She screamed in disbelief. "Loki... you - you hit me! I'm bleeding..."

He moved the dagger out from her neck just an inch to allow her to look again. "Did I?"

She looked down. There was neither blood nor hole. He pushed her chin back up and reapplied the dagger. "You could have prevented this. You had only to ignore a wound which was not necessarily fatal. Whereas," he pressed the dagger closer. " _I am_."

She was angry now. "What the fuck!" Suddenly her mind put her on the far side of the ring of people, next to Fandral, who was grinning and eating some small bits of something out of a leather pouch like it was popcorn. She was freaking hungry again already.

He laughed, and she came back to his hold. "Be calm, Princess. All is not lost. I will now show you how to _break free_ of this."

He showed her many things, in fact, all defensive, in her very first day with him. His taunts and haughty nature made her feel all the more victorious when she actually managed to dodge a capture or get a strike on him. They had a captive audience the whole time. They trained all the way up until he could hear her stomach growling, and insisted that she stop and eat. Like a sponge she absorbed every little trick he showed her. His techniques were fascinating. She ruminated on them, even in the great hall, as she started on her ridiculously large plate of food.


	15. The Once and Future Kings

Training and sparring with Loki was tough, but their sessions, collectively, became the most fun she'd ever had in her life. As promised, he had an entire set of daggers made for her, which earned him a heartfelt hug upon presentation. As the time flew by, she realized that she was actually beginning to feel somewhat safe. Safe because she had much better methods for defense. Safe because she was seeing, for herself, the extent of Loki's ability to protect her. It was a strange feeling, safe. But it allowed her to be much more cool, calm and level-headed in public... just like him.

He seemed to enjoy it as well - a little too much sometimes, she thought. He was so damned confident, he didn't even feel the need to wear his armor, opting instead for the comfort of his plain green tunic and black leather coat. His shrewd grins and relentless taunting were evidence of the raw delight he took in defeating her, repeatedly. But it wasn't long before she was thinking quickly enough to respond in kind. She found that a good way to piss Loki off was to make random, confusing comments while he was trying to focus - especially in front of a crowd. And... well... there was always a crowd. She thoroughly enjoyed using her naturally-occurring weirdness to try and distract him from handing her ass to her in combat.

On a rare day - when Thor, Sif and Fandral were all present at once - she decided it was the perfect time to use that particular gift. The morning was still crisp, but the sun had already driven all dew from the grass, and the smell of the gardener's blooming honeysuckle visited them on every breeze. He was circling her in his usual imposing way, looking for an opportunity to attack.

She held one dagger at the ready as she followed him, but otherwise acted as if they were just hanging out. "Oh hey, I've been meaning to ask, what exactly is this area called?" She made a wide circle above her head with the other hand. "I keep trying to refer to it... all the different training fields and the gardens in front of the Hall."

He looked at her with mild amusement, then glanced around. She closed the distance between them with an extraordinarily quick forward slash. He evaded it, then considered his new options. "I do not understand your question."

He made a fast, powerful high slash downward. She dodged past the dagger and inside, getting close enough to cut his unarmed wrist as she moved behind it. He let out a sharp breath and briefly bared his teeth - more out of frustration, than pain. She could always tell when there were new observers in the crowd when that happened, hearing their shocked whispers. Everyone who regularly watched already knew that Loki was immune to the enchantment on her daggers. He silently reoriented his weapon one-handed. She was too close for him to make another slashing move upon turning. She continued as if nothing had happened. "No, really. You guys have to call it something."

He turned and stabbed at an inward angle now, while grabbing for her neck with the injured, but not disabled, hand. She easily parried the grab, but was barely able to use both her forearms to block the strike, lifting his arm up and away. She locked one arm and free hand onto it, pushing straight up so he couldn't stab down in her direction again... at least not with any decent amount of speed, unless he turned that way... which would also cost him dearly. Still, it had already been established as a stupid move, in earlier sessions. It caught him by surprise. Breathing heavily, she thought for a second. "Would it be the As-yard? I'm going to call it the As-yard," A few of the observers snickered at that. Or at Loki's reaction. He narrowed his eyes, annoyed.

His goal was to capture, not maim. So rather than use his strength against her, he left the arm as it was, applying just enough downward force to keep her occupied. As she buckled under it, he took the opportunity to seize the back of her neck. But his hand had no sooner made contact than she brought her dagger down on it, contorting fluidly to thread her arm between his and her own shoulder. He had to withdraw to avoid its complete removal from the fight. But not before sleight-of-handing the dagger to it, directly above her head where she wouldn't see the act.

He concealed his agitation with a cautionary calm. "I would prefer not to engage in your non-sequitur banter this day, pet." He brought down his arm with more strength, forcing her to use both hands, if she wanted to keep her futile hold on where she believed his weapon to be. He looked down at her sideways with a smirk as he did, and dramatically scolded her. "Now, what have I told you of relying on your strength alone versus mine?"

She applied both hands, but as she was being pushed to the ground, she extended her leg towards his. "That's not what I'm doing," she grunted. "I'm not an As-tard." He stared her down with a puzzled expression, and she responded with a grin. As soon as he'd shifted his weight - most likely to knee her in her low position - she kicked the supporting knee in and brought his arm down at the same time, with the force of his own strength behind it. It didn't work perfectly, but he didn't quite have time to counteract the odd combination of moves. He stumbled forward, the simultaneous weakening of a leg and the downward force of his arm on the same side just a little too much for him.

His weapon was on the wrong side now as well... and she knew it. She let go of his arm, shifted her weight over to the extended leg and stabbed the back of the other knee from low and behind. He couldn't help but throw his arms backwards then, to keep his balance, and she used that fact to take the wielding wrist. She was able to disarm him while he was more focused on not falling, and had both daggers at his back by the time he righted himself. When he realized what she'd done, he slowly raised his eyebrows... then his hands. A touch of innocent surprise showed on his face.

She was panting now, but still grinning. "That wasn't As-hard as I thought it would be." She lowered the daggers. He turned, and they exchanged prideful grins. The whole crowd stood up then, taken aback by her apparent victory over the indomitable Loki. Then they gradually began to clap, to laugh and cheer.

"Very good," he sang smoothly. It was the first match she had ever definitively won against him. Well, pretend-won, she thought. His daggers weren't - by definition - real, and her stabs had barely made a scratch.

A majority of the crowd dispersed, speaking excitedly of all the matches they'd seen that day, and the skills of the odd mortal as compared to them. Thor approached Loki and thumped him on the back, saying things that stroked his ego - she was sure of that, based on the expressions on them both. But she was tired, and hungry, so she'd already excused herself. She embarked on a very serious mission to find some food.

As she traveled, she wore a smile so wide it made her face hurt. Word would get around about this, she thought, and people might think twice before fucking with this little princess.

Suddenly, on the verdant grass there was a fast-moving shadow, causing her to stop and look up. A large black bird was flying towards her. She ducked as it zoomed by a little too close to her head, but once it had passed, she saw that it was actually one of Odin's ravens. She'd never seen them leave the halls in the middle of the day. But they'd always seemed friendly before... so she held out her white-leather-clad arm and waited. He seemed to notice this immediately. He came back around and actually landed there, very delicately. She smiled at him. "Good morning, Sir. Fancy meeting you here..." He looked at her in a very odd way, for a bird. He looked into her eyes, and watched only her facial expressions, the way a human would. He was very still, not fidgety or anything, as if to visit her had been his only goal. She slowly raised her other hand to touch him, and when she got close, he put down his head, closing those bright, intelligent eyes as she smoothed over the soft feathers there. She remembered these guys from her grandmother's stories. "Let me guess: your name is either Huginn or Muninn." She changed course and made her way towards the throne room, speaking to him softly along the way.

When she walked in she was surprised to see not just a whole bunch of important-looking people, but that they were crowded unusually close to the throne itself. She couldn't see the king. The raven didn't leave her for his post, either. As she ascended the stairs to see what was going on, two of the older aesir in elaborate robes turned to confront her, leaving a small gap between them. She could see a different kind of force field glowing, surrounding the throne, certain people reaching through it... and Odin, slumped over onto the arm of the throne, his weary eyes closed, not breathing. Dead.

She gasped at the sight, and had to remind herself of who... or _what_ it really was. She'd been acting for so long that all aspects of the lie had been deeply ingrained into her mind. It was smart of Loki not to warn her, she thought. She was a good enough liar... but not that great an actress.

"Princess!" one of the aesir called. Several of them approached, flanked by guards. Instinctively she backed away, and hoped with all her hope that she wasn't suspected as involved. But the expression of the leading one immediately softened, and he placed his hand in the path of the angry, saddened and bitter-looking ones, indicating that they stay back. Then he approached her alone, slowly, his face displaying only care and concern. He smelled strongly of some sort of incense. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder as he spoke. "Have no fear, child. Please understand; we aesir are _not_ immortal. His Majesty King Odin's time has come. But his orders protecting you still stand." He glanced back at the others. "Do you know where Thor and Loki are now?"

"They... are on the training fields, still, I think. Or not far from there."

He motioned to one of the guards, who sprang to life and rushed out the same door she'd come in through. Then, with a sudden flutter, the raven joined his brother at the arm of the throne. His brother seemed a little more distraught. He was constantly eyeing Odin, and putting his head down every once in a while, waiting for the reassuring touch that would never come. Damn, she thought. Never underestimate the power of Loki, whose illusions can fool even animals.

The kind oss smiled weakly. "They will be notified." He removed his hand and turned away, but a searing look from some of the others had him turning back quickly. "We... strongly recommend, that you leave the vicinity now."

She peered at him suspiciously. "And why is that?"

He hesitated to say. "Prince Thor will be here soon... with no less than the speed of Mjolnir. We would have you and your child out of harm's way. He can be quite destructive when upset."

Her first impulse was to resent their overprotectiveness. But then she thought of the incident in the great hall, and subconsciously put a hand on her belly. She nodded dismissively, and left to continue her quest for food instead.

She smelled something savory and delicious. She was almost there when the warrior's powerful, anguished roar reached her ears. It echoed down every corridor, filling the Hall of Asgard with his despair.

Loki found her in the feasting hall that evening - where he suspected she'd been ever since his projection of Odin's death. It was the only place reliably frequented by the more open-minded aesir, of whom she could ask what was happening without fear of committing some faux pas. She had already been completely informed of all of Asgard's rituals concerning the death of royalty, and what her place would be. It was at his side.

For once, she was content to _stay_ at his side; unusually compliant and silent, during the opulent funeral proceedings. He held her close whenever he could, to ease her tension. He knew as well as she that she was not so skilled at acting. As the king's heavily-garnished pyre drifted out-of-view, he noticed that she was watching him very closely. She must be expecting some sort of change in him, he guessed. He looked down and gave her a knowing look, which satisfied her curiosity. Yes, he'd finally been relieved of the burden of near-constant projection; of being in two places at once; of being Odin.

She woke in the middle of the night, all sweaty again. She wasn't so sure it was the baby this time, but rather her fevered dreams of being locked up in AsJail for the rest of her life, along with Loki, for her part in his crimes.

She threw off the blankets and put on a loose tunic, to stand on the balcony once more. After several minutes of bathing in the cool, ocean-scented air, she noticed out of the corner of her eye a light where there usually wasn't - and shouldn't be. It was indirect from her room, but she could tell from the different shadows it cast on the fields and gardens below that it came from the king's hall... the throne room, to be precise.

Curiosity lured her back inside, where she got fully dressed and went to investigate.

The narrow beam of light coming from under the room's monolithic doors told her she was right. She could hear two voices speaking softly inside, and one of them possessed the darkness and eloquent cadence of Loki. She was about to heave open one door, but the words she could now make out made her stop, and carefully remove her hand from the gilded handle.

"I must say, Brother, I am truly honored to have finally earned your trust."

"Trust? No..." Thor halfheartedly scoffed at Loki's presumption. "I will always have love for you, Brother. But know this: I have good friends here. Friends who will not be stopped from reporting to me - _regardless_ of where I dwell - if your rule brings anything other than peace and prosperity to Asgard." His normally commanding voice was weighed down, depressed. "You may thank _them_ for my willingness to leave you to your throne. That is, if you can find them. They are loyal... and many. Do not make me regret my decision, Loki."

No response. She silently readied herself to walk away, thinking Loki had somehow detected her. But he'd only been waiting to be certain that Thor had finished his speech. Calmly, he said, "I assure you, there is no need to threaten, Brother."

There was a distinctly clever grin in the timbre of Thor's voice. "The house of Loki is full of traitors."

That sounded familiar. Like she'd read it in a report somewhere... yes. He was paraphrasing what the frost giant Laufey had said, the day he was banished to Midgard. He continued. "These past months I have seen naught but the good in you. Your love for the fugitive mortal has changed you, Silver-Tongue." Loki chuckled slightly. "I believe you to be a wise king. And I admit... there are few things that I desire more than to be with Jane."

"I've found myself more understanding of your perspective in that matter, as of late," he casually admitted.

She couldn't help but smile. Then the sound of armored footsteps stole her attention. She really didn't want to put forth the effort to explain this to an Ass-guard right now. She left quickly, taking the long way back to her room just to avoid them.

On the day of his coronation, Loki sat her down and explained what would happen, and what to do. Then he disappeared, a few hours before, in order to make whatever preparations were necessary on his part. She reluctantly - and with the help of no less than four handmaidens, which Loki had sent to her room - donned a formal dress, which he'd had made just for her. He'd asked her for her preferences, but she never liked fancy dresses in the first place, and much less so now that her belly protruded out further than her breasts. So all she'd said was 'nothing form-fitting'. When they were finished with the fitting, though, she was surprised to see that she didn't look half-bad. Pregnant, but not horrible, in the light and flowy long green gown.

Thor had neglected to stay and play his part in the ceremony, instead rushing back to be with Jane Foster - and help protect the Earth from its own weirdness in the name of the Avengers and SHIELD. She suspected much of his decision had been affected by his grief, and felt bad for him... as did everyone. But she pushed the truth of the matter out of her mind. She shouldn't feel bad about it, she convinced herself. Loki would have done this somehow whether or not she'd ever met him. She was able to smile with genuine pride and blend in with everyone in the hall without suspicion, as he made his way to the throne. He ascended the stairs to take his place before it and the captain of the king's guard, to whom the responsibility of performing the actual act had fallen. Loki removed his helm, and the hall went silent as the imposingly-clad oss began his speech.

The coronation had, thus far, gone entirely according to plan. A pleasant surprise, Loki thought, even as he listened to the captain's official words. He flawlessly made his vows, speaking with vigor and sincerity, laced with just a hint of solemn reverence when his father was mentioned in them. He was on his approach to accept Gungnir, the symbol of his victory, when he heard a loud gasp - barely laced with a small, familiar voice, to his left. Instinctively he turned towards it, and saw Sara holding both sides of her belly. She glanced from it to him with wide eyes, and he deftly cut across the platform and the steps on which she stood. All he could sense from her was the mild fear that there would be consequences for her interruption, as ridiculous as that was. She had not yet developed a theory on what was happening to his heir.

He couldn't conceal the trepidation in his voice. The life within her was so fragile, its needs not fully known. "What is it, pet?"

"I... I'm sorry. I think I felt him kick."

She could feel her face burning, red with embarrassment. The kick had come as such a shock... was it supposed to hurt this much? From what she understood, it would be more like a flutter, barely hurt at all, and definitely not for the first few times it happened! Still, it wasn't so bad that she couldn't have contained herself. She felt it happen again. Much less discomfort this time. She put a hand over where the tiny spasm feeling had come from. She looked at Loki, whose eyes were bigger than she'd ever seen them, his mouth slightly open, at a loss for words. He collapsed into a half-kneeling position on the stairs and placed his helm on one of the lower ones.

In a wave of metallic clanks and whispers, the entire hall knelt as well. She scanned the room, overwhelmed by what she'd just inadvertently caused.

Loki ignored them completely, and glanced at her hand with concern. "May I?"

She couldn't stop staring at the rest of the room's strange inhabitants, but she answered quickly. "Yes, of course." and she moved her hand aside.

Immediately he spread his hand over where hers had been, and studied her eyes as he waited. It was only a few seconds before she felt another movement. She winced a little. Loki's eyes widened and he let out a sharp breath. His expression was one of both awe and relief. He put his other hand there as well, and gazed at her belly for a moment. Then he rose gracefully, and a big smile crept across his face. "Tell me... does it hurt?"

"Yes, a little. I... wasn't expecting that."

He glanced at the crowd, and then back at her. He focused intently on her eyes and made a very slight nod, so she would understand. "He is _strong_ ," he said, just loud enough so they all could hear.

She stared, then realized what he'd meant by that. Some of the movements would hurt more, because of his half-jotun strength. She smiled. "Just like his father."

He leaned down and kissed her, as his hand slid to rest on her middle again. Then he returned to his place at the top. The guards all stood again, and everyone else there followed suite.

He now had a more... legitimate, reason for smiling.

Halldora had also attended the coronation of their unexpected new king. Her presence was out of obligation, rather than desire, though - of course. When it was over, she was amongst those who elected _not_ to stay for the feast. She was more than happy to return to the healers' hall instead.

Though she had no other patients for the day, she needed to clean the examination table soon, on the off-chance that an emergency patient would be brought in. Normally she would delegate such a task, but she'd already made Geisli clean the instruments earlier. He had no qualms with touching the blood of lesser species. She would show her gratitude by leaving him to his studies this time.

She started to wipe it down, the cloth picking up pieces of dirt from the last patient - an oss who'd come in filthy; fresh off the training fields. She looked at the underside to see what level of dirty she'd be dealing with this time. But she saw something unusual, and pulled it off to inspect it more closely. The cloth had caught a long, silvery-blonde hair. She wrinkled her nose a bit. It's a wonder the humans have any hair on their heads at all, she thought, with the rate at which they shed it. She sanitized the cloth and continued the cleaning process. But from that point on, she just _couldn't stop_ thinking about the mortal, her child, and the future of this kingdom as left in the hands of Loki's heir-apparent. He had assured them that it would not, in fact, be jotun in either appearance or mannerisms. But she'd watched Loki study sorcery since he was small, and she knew better than most exactly how skilled with it he was. He would have no trouble hiding a jotun child... at least until it was too late for anyone to argue the succession.

Odin may have forgiven Loki, but he would never have allowed a monster king, raised by him, his human and his dark magic. If that is what he's planning, she thought, she must tell Thor and the high-ranking members of the court, who would surely agree with her and put a stop to this.

No... she calmed herself. She was overreacting; making assumptions. The grief of Odin's death was affecting her judgement, and furthermore, it was not her place to question royalty at all! To pursue it would only put her, and all associated with her, in danger. So she banished it from her mind, replacing it with the newly-created molecule she'd been second-guessing as a part of a cure for innate blindness. But her thoughts wandered even from that. So she stopped. The only way she was going to be rid of it was if she sated her mind with an answer.

She looked up, at the wall, and called into the other room. "Geisli."


	16. Cloak and Dagger

King Loki, it turned out, was even better at manipulating the people than Prince Loki had been. Intimidating as he was - casually reclined into the throne with his horns, cape and full royal armor - he somehow managed to give the impression that he was nevertheless approachable. The people came directly to him with their problems more often than they had with the somewhat more ill-tempered Odin. He'd always been quite crafty, and so he was very good at coming up with fair and innovative solutions. Sara watched the process from his side with great interest for the first few days. Conflicting or indecisive folk would present the issue in a civil manner - because any arguing in his presence would earn them the most withering look from His Majesty. Tough decisions would cause him to curl his hand over his lips and stare off in deep thought. The party would wait with baited breath, until a wave of his hand and a few eloquent words would decide the fate or who or whatever had been in question. And that was the final word. He'd tactfully made it clear that subversive behavior towards either the king or queen would never be tolerated, anywhere.

He made sly little 'improvements' here and there as well. Or rather, she thought, he was finally able to unleash them all on the realm. She was pretty sure there was a long list of things that Loki'd been wanting to change in Asgard, for a very long time.

To the reluctant queen's surprise, occasionally some of the commoners would come to her! She asked the first few why, and eventually one admitted to her that he was not comfortable approaching Loki. She figured this to be the case with them all. It was the one and only benefit to being a Midgardian queen. She would never be seen as threatening to anyone. In fact, though he insisted otherwise, she could tell that Loki saw _them_ as more of a threat to _her_. He'd watch them, even as he made the most important official decrees. He would always glance over discreetly, warily. It disturbed him to no end that she consistently ignored his demands to wear royal armor, like him. But she was confident in her ability to defend herself - well, her and the excessive amount of strategically-placed guards present most places that she went. She also really, really didn't like the idea of her protruding belly being covered with metal. Or anything shiny, or attention-grabbing. Nope.

She made sure to be extra friendly and sociable when outside the Hall. She didn't want the people to think that her big status promotion meant she was anything different from before. And, if she really wanted it, she knew where to go for solitude. The giant green maze that was the gardens was still her favorite place in which to escape.

After one particularly frustrating disagreement with Loki - regarding said armor - that was exactly where she'd wandered off to. She was still discovering parts of it, and decided this time to revisit the gorgeous, peaceful tunnel of trellised wisteria vines. It brought a smile to her face immediately, to see all the exotic flowers hanging, like pale purple stalactites, just above her head. 'Short people only', she thought of it fondly, as the lowest one lightly brushed her braids. She heard the soft pat of something on the ground - like very quiet footsteps. Her ever-suspicious mind made her whip around, hand-on-dagger... only to see two giant, heavy magnolia leaves float down on a strong breeze from a far-off, but very tall, tree. They made that same sound as they hit the dirt.  
  
She continued to stroll through slowly, enjoying the cool, ocean-scented breeze, until a stronger smell got her attention. Wisteria didn't really smell, she thought, and she was pretty sure she wasn't close enough to any of the more fragrant flowering plants or trees. What was that? It was more of an herbal scent. It wasn't bad, but it was pungent; insistent... She gasped as she remembered what it smelled like. Camphor. Not a good thing to do just then, as her lungs took in more of the substance all at once. Instantly her mind was fuzzy. She just couldn't think, of - something. How... to call out. Yes. For help. Quickly, it took her balance from her as well. She swayed in place as she struggled to think, and stumbled backwards, a little too far to correct for it in time. She curled up as best she could and covered her belly with her arms. Her last clear thought was to try to protect her baby. Though she feared for him, she fell.  
  
In shock, she realized that a set of strong arms had caught her. They lowered her carefully to the ground. Her vision was growing dim, but she still managed to wrap her tingling fingers around a dagger and pull it out. Then her arms fell limp. A soft male voice said "No, My Queen..." and a hand gently covered hers and pried it from her fingers. She tried with every fiber of her being to scream. "Shhh... let go. We have no want to harm you, if you just _let go_." She clenched her hand into a fist. As if she had a choice in the matter.

Suddenly she was on her back, laid out onto a cold, hard surface. She couldn't see anymore, or move. But she knew she needed to figure this situation out quickly. She could hear footsteps. They were muffled, like they were on the other side a wall... two sets... rushing, busy, but not yet in the room.

Unless they were whispering, they weren't communicating with each other. So there was a well-known plan there, and their proximity to each other indicated that they weren't strangers, either. She smelled what had to be a tame, clean-burning fire somewhere, and developed a theory on her location.

As soon as she could open her eyes, she knew where she was. The healer's hall. The room was almost identical to the one she'd woken up in _the last time_ some bastard had talked her into passing out. Goddammit Loki, she fumed. He's suppressed a bunch of memories again and put me back at this point, for some convoluted, self-serving reason, I'm sure. I'll probably forget I was ever here in a minute. Not a damn thing I can do about it. Well... at least I know I'll be okay. Eventually. It's not permanent; that's not what he does. He said it takes too much energy. Which he needs for more important things.

Her body came back much more quickly this time. Instinctively she moved to cover her belly, but her wrists were held down by something. Her ankles too, she found, as she squirmed at different angles. She couldn't see them, but they were far apart, and each hand was a good two feet from her body as well. The table was huge; designed to hold beings much larger than herself. She panicked. Oh, god... this wasn't a trick. Someone had brought her here, and pinned her to this table like a butterfly on display. She told herself to stay calm; to continue to assess the situation. But as the fear rose in her, she pulled and writhed against the restraints in silence. It was better not to let them know she was awake, at least. It would give her more time to get free.

The straps were something leathery, and each was one piece; no buckles, no fasteners at all. But they were so tight around her wrists... they had to adjust somewhere. She followed one down below the table as far as she could reach. Nothing. 

One of the sets of steps moved slightly closer. She went limp and closed her eyes again, well before they entered the room. If she was right, there was no point in screaming for help. They were in one of the outlying buildings, which jettied into the ocean, far from the mainland and anyone else who could hear.

Someone moved around in the room for awhile, then stopped suddenly. They approached her on the table. After several minutes, they spoke to her, at a distance which suggested they'd been studying her closely. The weathered voice was Halldora's. "Are... you awake, little mortal?"

The question was mostly rhetorical. The surgeon who'd flawlessly replaced the heart of a rather uncooperative alien could surely tell that she wasn't unconscious anymore. She opened her eyes. Halldora was peering down at her, then she pulled herself upright and away.

Composing herself to hide both the panic and the anger, Sara did no more than raise her eyebrows and speak with false confidence. "Halldora. There is a _fantastic_ reason for me being transported here, against my will, I presume."

Dismissively, she replied, "It is for the good of Asgard." She walked away.

"Halldora." She did pause to listen. "Let me out of these restraints. Whatever you're doing, I'll cooperate. Not because I'm nice. Because I have no weapons..." she looked around. "...anymore. So my only options would be to run, or to fight you and your assistants without them. Both of which are pointless. I won't risk taking on that kind of stress, in my condition."

She scoffed, and kept on walking. She began touching something on the far wall with her back turned. "I do apologize. It appears I've failed to dose you with enough. Your strong new heart has awakened you prematurely."

That statement alone caused the deep-rooted fear in her to rise. What was she going to do, that she was supposed to be asleep for? She'd ignored her, and scoffed at the mention of her baby. She didn't seem to care much if she was awake or not. But, she was still talking. And she would have killed her already if that was the intent. There was still a chance she could negotiate. She put her head down on the table, and tried to keep her breathing steady. She didn't move at all when Halldora reappeared. Then a strange, fluid golden force field popped up, glowing brightly above her head.

A single assistant then joined her; she could hear them, but they stayed too far back to see. Then as he crossed the room his face, expressionless, came into view briefly. Geisli. It had been his voice in the garden. She'd had the younger, stronger oss haul his heavy queen in here. He was obviously loyal to her... but still a better target for talking her way out. "You know, you could have just let me fall." She smiled at him. "Thanks for catching me." Then she looked down at her belly. "Thanks from both of us." Geisli made eye contact, but didn't respond. A good sign. It meant he was thinking. Thinking things that he wouldn't dare say in present company. He didn't agree completely with Halldora's plans.

Quiet, ethereal sounds came from the field as Halldora manipulated it with her fingers, changing it into a golden image of her body... inside and out. All eyes went immediately to her belly and there, clearly visible, was her baby. Sara gasped, surprised to see him - but it also revealed her fear. Her heartbeat quickened and her breaths remained short and panicky. _Why_ was she looking at her baby?

Noticing her captive's slow, determined wrenching on the restraints, Halldora glanced down, then ignored it. She focused on making the field's image as clear as possible.

Sara could see some of her baby's features, though the angle made it hard to tell for sure if it was a boy or a girl. Loki's preferred pronoun usage had her assuming he was correct, for lack of any other information. As the image continued to shift and flicker, Halldora let out a long sigh of frustration. She let her hands fall from it, stared, and pressed two fingers to her lips. She seemed to be pondering the implications. She's looking for _markings_ , Sara realized. But the image was grainy; not quite clear enough to tell if they were there. The baby jerked his arm forward - kind of a punch. It was only slightly painful, but his immobilized mother was already so tense, it made her cringe. He responded with a knee to the uterine walls. She gasped, then smiled and giggled a little. But the reaction was cut short by a horrifyingly logical thought: what _else_ was Halldora prepared to do, now that this had failed, to get her answer?

Sara suddenly resented her knowledge of basic biology, as all the ways it could be done ran through her head at once. She squeezed her fingers together hard and tried to pull a hand free. Then she tried, with all her strength, to slip out of each of her boots. She couldn't even bend a knee. When Halldora leaned over and touched her chest, right over her heart, she tried again, trembling with fear. This was the healer who'd put it there; why was she checking on it now? She felt tears forming, and despite her best efforts her shaking soon caused them to fall. Intrigued, Halldora watched her face more closely and lifted both eyebrows at her. She was just about to say something when someone burst into the adjacent room, one loud bang causing them both to jump and look. Halldora froze and listened calmly, as armored footsteps rushed towards them. Then her eyes went wide. "M... My King!" She addressed him properly, but she was more than a little surprised.

Loki scanned the room with eyes full of rage. He had no helm, but still wore his full royal armor. His left hand was clenched tightly around Gungnir. He looked like he was fresh off the throne. Halldora made the mistake of speaking. "Your Majesty... I was only -"

"Silence, healer!" he hissed. "I care not for your lies." She backed away quickly as he strode towards his stolen mortal. He looked her over. She was as-yet unharmed, but he knew her current state of distress all too well. He tried to free one of her hands. But these bonds were designed for aesir. They would not break under any amount of stress. He lowered himself to her, and put his hand on the side of her face. "Are you alright?" She nodded, but her green eyes were glistening from tears. "Are you able to stop your shaking for me? I do not wish to cut you." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her head rolled over into his hand slightly, and for a moment, he thought he felt something change in her. She did indeed stop shaking, but she wasn't all there anymore. Conscious, yes. But to say her mind was wandering was... a dramatic understatement. It lasted only seconds, then she returned to normal as if nothing had happened at all.

He held the spear horizontally with two hands, and carefully severed each restraint. She scrambled to sit up and then stood, supporting her belly lightly with one hand. The normally boisterous mother of his child said nothing, as she took up her default position at his side.

Loki had seen several tiny glints of metal on the tables upon entering, and he now was able to look at them more closely. Amongst all the medical devices shined the runes of her daggers, still on their belt. He retrieved them, and graciously presented them to his queen. She smiled weakly as she took them, then immediately looped the belt over her head and put them back in their rightful place on her hip. She never removed her hand from its closest blade, and glared at the healer Halldora.

Sara knew that something awful was about to go down. Halldora seemed to harbor a hatred for the resident 'little mortal', and had the minimum of obligatory respect for her king. Loki would find a way to permanently fix the problem. But suddenly he turned his head. Geisli was in the doorway, with wide eyes, holding a bag of something. Loki lunged forward and skillfully placed Gungnir's blade at the side of his neck. He held his head high and demanded of him, "Why has Halldora done this?" Good, she thought. He'd picked up on that too. Halldora would only lie to protect herself, but she wasn't the type to make such a dangerous move on her own. If her minion Geisli had played a larger part in this, it would be wise of him to divulge the motivations of his boss, to his king.

He froze, then dropped the bag and raised his hands. He gulped and eyed the spear, and Loki... and the floor. "It is my understanding that she believes the child may be jotun. She fears for the future of the kingdom, given the... known nature, of the species." He gulped again, holding his neck as far from that blade as possible without actually stepping back. "She intends to alert the others, if this is true. She would have you dethroned..." He closed his eyes, unable to handle Loki's intimidating stare and speak at the same time. "...as it is technically an act of treason to give a member of a hostile race the opportunity to rule."

Loki's face flashed surprise, then it was right back to fiery wrath. He lowered the spear, switched it to one hand again, and walked slowly towards Halldora, lost in thought. When he reached the middle of the room he turned to face Geisli, walking backwards now, with a satisfied smirk. He put his hand on the middle of his chest. "I appreciate your compliance." Then he turned and thrust the spear directly into Halldora's heart. Sara gasped. Geisli held his hands over his mouth, and Halldora let out a groaning breath as she looked down at it, in disbelief. He withdrew the bloody blade, and she fell to the floor. Her delicate dress lingered, then draped over her like a blanket as her breathing abruptly stopped.

He looked at Geisli again. His voice was commanding and clear. "You need not concern yourself any further with this matter. I will notify the guards of her murder, and rid you of this... mess." He dismissively waved his hand at the body, and moved forward just before the spreading pool of blood reached his boots. He sauntered up to him, and stated almost cheerfully, "Your position is now senior healer, should you choose it." He slapped a hand onto the shorter oss' shoulder, making him jump a little. "Either way, you would earn my favor quickly, for your silence. Tell me; is this too much to ask of you, _Lord_ Geisli?"

He looked up and made eye contact with surprising fortitude. "No, My Liege. It is not."

She followed him without a word as he made his way in long, quick strides back to the Hall, his green cape flaying out behind him in his rush. They were halfway over the connecting bridge when he suddenly stopped. He studied her with a stern expression while she caught up to him. He exuded fury, but he gently placed a hand onto her back, and they walked the rest of the way there at her exhausted pace.

He had reestablished his ruthless nature for her - the one that never went away, and that she already knew quite well. But what bothered her the most about this incident... was how little it actually bothered her. Once she was sure she knew where they were, she stopped for a moment, and gave him her best 'I'm okay' smile. "Thank you,'' she said simply. He looked her up and down, and furrowed his brow, but she'd already started to walk away. She had no idea what to do about what had just happened to her, or how to prevent it from happening again. There were so many unknown tools and weapons, and the psychology of these people... it would take her years to understand and predict it all. And by then, she'd probably be dead at the hands of one. It didn't matter that she could defend herself versus a warrior. She felt helpless all over again. So, she pushed it all out of her mind, and went to go find something good and distracting to do.


	17. Damage Control

For several days she, quite casually, avoided him. When they did speak she acted as if nothing had happened, and made various excuses to go off and do things which didn't involve him.

She was in one of the rooms attached to the great feasting hall, helping to prepare dinner, when amongst all the rushing bodies in the busy kitchen she noticed a tall, dark figure standing still. She looked up and saw him just standing there, with a devious smile on his face. That caught her off-guard. To the best of her knowledge, he'd never set foot in the place. How does he always find me, she wondered. He tilted his head and spoke smoothly. "My beautiful tigress. I did not think it were possible for you to be any more so than you were when last I saw you. But, here I stand, corrected." She smiled like a bashful little nerd, as always.

The cooks and servers deftly altered their paths to stay out of his way, as he crossed the kitchen and came up behind her. She paused briefly as he touched her shoulders, then continued peeling her potatoes.

His hand snaked down her arm and stopped her fingers from moving. He spoke quietly into her ear. "Why must you insist on working with the servants every day? You are with me now. You are _a queen_. You should allow me to treat you as such."

She scoffed. "You're the only one who sees me as a queen," she said. "And truthfully, that suits me just fine."

She felt his body tense up. He let go of her hand and stepped away. She turned to see why, and the smile quickly disappeared.

His jaw was clenched tightly, and his eyes burned with a quieted frustration. As each server noticed this, they slowed or stopped to watch, many of them putting some extra distance in between. He subjugated the room with only a cursory glance, then looked back to her. He swept his hand through the air. "Leave us." They scattered, the clank of tools and dishes on random surfaces evidence of the haste he had implied.

He looked around for lingering servants. Then he leveled his gaze at her. "Why do you say such things?" he demanded. He stepped towards her again, his eyes locked on hers. "- in no less than the presence of those who would respect you."

At that, she snapped. "They don't _respect_ me. I've made some friends. But you spend most of your time in the Hall; you don't hear them talk like I do. There are many 'high-ranking denizens' who speak of me as if I were _your dog_ -" Suddenly she winced, then her expression softened as she looked at her belly. She put both hands on one spot. "- and the heir to the throne will be half-dog!"

His eyes widened, then he lowered his brow. His thoughts were quite wrathful; she knew this, which was why she hadn't named anyone specific. He calmed himself though, and said firmly, "I will _make_ them respect you."

Urgently, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "I would not have risked the future of Asgard only for my own personal desires. If I had failed to see in you the potential to be a sound, fierce and benevolent queen, I wouldn't have made you one. I know that you have the people's favor. And I can teach you how to change the minds of all who would differ in 'opinion'."

She was stunned for a moment. He was so passionate about this, and she was beginning to think that he might be right. He watched his hands slide down, and off her armored shoulders. "All you need is a bit of refinement, and you _will_ fit the part."

Her eyes refused to meet his, looking down and everywhere else instead. Something was affecting her emotions again... hormones perhaps. It was not the first time that he suspected that they'd come into play. This time, though, there were unsolicited tears that she held back. There was something else connected to this contempt of her position; something unaddressed. He stood back from her a bit, folded his arms loosely, and studied her. He decided not to push her, and simply waited for it to come.

"And what about Halldora?" she said finally. "Are you going to kill everyone whose minds _can't_ be changed? Who I can't protect myself from?"

She still wouldn't look at him, even as she spoke these words. Apparently, witnessing him perform such acts - even in her defense - still had the same effect on her as it did when they first met. Fear. She feared he would always be willing to take her life, as well.

Words could only do so much to counter this to her strong and obstinate mind. So he simply took her arm and pulled her into him. She resisted it, but at the same time her eyes were overflowing. He held her firmly in place, though she struggled. And soon, as expected, she gave up on appearances. She rested her head there, sobbing weakly into his chest. Softly, he explained. "There was much more to it than that. Halldora stole you away. She put undue stress on her queen and unborn prince. But also... twice now have I entrusted her with information, and twice did she betray me. I cannot have such traitors here, plotting our demise at this crucial point in time." She'd quieted herself, but her breathing was still erratic. He sighed, and told her the rest. "Before, when I first brought you here, your arrival was... unexpected. I'd not yet perfected my plans, and your part in them was uncertain. I needed time. But your people denied me that. _Only two_ did I trust with the knowledge of you coming here. Halldora was there, to see to your wounds, should I fail to reach you in time. When I left my chambers that night I was quite unprepared for the questions that awaited me regarding the mortal in Asgard." He loosened one arm's hold on her to rub her aching back.

She didn't take the opportunity to get away. She didn't even bother to look up. Just melted into his touch. He was too good at making her do that. "Loki... why are you doing this?"

He smiled. She had relaxed, and finally seen fit to speak. "Doing what, pet?"

"Being so kind, and patient... almost loving, towards me."

He tilted his head down to see her better. "Well... it does not benefit me to be otherwise. And it's part of our bargain. 'Anything you need you shall have'."

She looked up at him, confused. So he elaborated. "I believe that there are times, when _what you need_ is kindness, patience and - for want of a better term - love."

Calmly, she pushed away from him, and he allowed it. She took a short, heavy breath, then furrowed her brow. "I suppose... it does have its place. Even in hearts as cold as ours."

At that, his pleased smile turned into a smirk. She'd no idea of cold.

"Wait... who was the other one you trusted? Are _they_ still alive?"

He ignored the implication. "He is alive and well. His name is Heimdall."

"Heimdall. The one from our mythology?"

"I believe so. Your tales have seeds of truth in them, the most consistent of which - unfortunately - are of the individuals that your people met."

She erupted into giggles. "What! So basically, we took your people and put them in our own stories, which we made up."

"Some are not far from the truth. Occasionally - for reasons well beyond my comprehension - a soft-hearted oss would regale the primitive folk with stories of Asgard..."

The subject of mythology had her captivated. Though she did - most stubbornly - return to her task, her questions were amusing, and incessant. He stayed with her there, leaning against the table, until she was finished peeling. Then he followed her out of the kitchen. No servant would dare be caught trying to listen in, but they all came out of the woodwork quickly to resume their respective preparations for dinner.

To her surprise, Loki seemed content to sit with her and speak of Asgard's past, even as the hall populated with the most clamorous of warriors and ostentatious nobles. Not a single one of them failed to notice the king and queen as they settled. Most saw Loki first, in his flashy royal garb, but when they saw the smaller, less-conspicuous queen behind him, her harmless face seemed to put them all at ease. Though she didn't say it, her wandering eyes drew his attention to this fact, as they spoke of other things.

She had her elbows on the table, smooshing her cheeks a little as she held her chin up with both hands, listening intently. "Sleipnir."

"A vicious lie told by the giant whom I had helped to wrong."

"Ha! Well then, how _did_ you slow him down?"

"I simply distracted him from his work. At some point I may have used a few skills, other than those for which they call me Silver-Tongue. At the time, any opportunity to do so was appealing to me. So I agreed to help... though of course I'd played no part in negotiating his price."

"So, how did that very - um - _specific_ , lie, make it to us?"

His smile was wide and unbroken. He couldn't help but take pleasure in the sure and subtle way he'd found to keep her content. "I am uncertain. I... was not one of those who saw fit to speak with humans. They received all information regarding me from the others. And - though I admit I am no stranger to trickery - for that, it seems that my stories are the ones which were the most exaggerated."

She raised her head and sat up straight. "I've never met Heimdall, have I? Where's he been all this time?"

"He guards the Bifrost, day and night. In fact..." He looked away thoughtfully and shook his finger in the air. "- he is quite the perfect example of your people's ability to seamlessly alter the truth. The prevailing description of him is... not entirely accurate." He grinned, amused by a thought. "I believe it's high time that you met him."

She made no attempt to hide her excitement. "Yes! Now? Yes. That... would be great." This was what she'd stayed here for. She might be tempted to become a historian, she mused, if she did go back to Earth. The things she had already learned were fascinating, the anthropological significance priceless.

He wasted no time in giving her what she wanted. Her excitement represented a pleasant and welcome change in personality. As they left the hall he added, "He is never hard to find."

She realized exactly how long they'd been talking mythology the minute they stepped outside. It was dark, and their surroundings became much darker as they neared Asgard's vast ocean. She followed him excitedly out of the city, but at the water's edge she stopped. Her legs went weak. The bridge that stretched out before them was no less than amazing. It extended out so far that its terminus, from there, was only a tiny golden sphere of light. The bridge itself was composed of something smooth and reflective, but it glowed with micaceous prisms of light. The rainbow bridge. It was, by far, the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Loki's low voice snapped her out of her trance. "The Bifrost is most prepossessing at night." He was waiting patiently, only a few feet ahead, for her to follow again. He'd stepped onto the bridge's surface - a slight step down from the abrupt, stony edge of the streets - and offered her his hand. She peered over the edge first. That dark, tumultuous ocean was a long way down. With the extra weight she was carrying, this was one instance in which she would gladly accept the help.

She stepped down cautiously and began to walk with him. He held her hand, until she noticed that she'd been vice-gripping his - holding on for dear life - and let it go. She soon overcame the unnerving aspects of the bridge's construction, and allowed herself to truly take in its intoxicating display of the supernatural. She was mesmerized by the shifting colors of the bridge below her feet, and only ever looked up from them to see something equally fantastic. Like Asgard's ridiculously high outer walls. Or the majestic spires which stood on either side. Or Loki, whose smug grin meant that she was not concealing the mixture of trust, fear and wonder from him very well at all.

Loki ushered her into the giant golden sphere that she'd been eyeing the whole time, nervous about what she'd find inside. Rainbows don't make bridges. And that was the extent of the descriptive powers of ancient Norse storytellers. Which made the rest of the Asgardian transportation system a complete wild card. In the very center of it all was an imposingly-clad being, holding with two hands a sword, stuck in a pillar. Their loud footsteps on the bridge had not rattled him from his state of focus. She didn't want to disturb him, but Loki's casual demeanor gave her a small amount of confidence. She stealthily circled the perimeter of the structure until she could see his face. It was his eyes that made her stop, and stare. They were as gold as everything else in the room, but disturbingly bright, almost glowing. The face which held them was dark, wise, and stoic. He seemed to gaze into an imperceptibly far-off distance, even as he turned his head to see her.

Loki strode right up to him, grinned, and raised his voice rather flippantly. "Heimdall! What color is your skin?"

The fabled guardian of worlds turned further, to look at Loki. She was surprised by the witty smile that was slowly taking over his face. "Not white, My King."

Her eyes darted from one to the other. Then she remembered the mythology. Suddenly she had to cover her mouth to keep her own snickering to herself. But it still drew his attention back to her.

Heimdall could, of course, see that the mortal was timid. Not so much as when she'd first arrived. Still, he did his best to keep the smile that made most frightened souls more comfortable in his presence. "My Queen. It is an honor to finally meet you."

She breathed a short sigh of relief, and was finally able to speak. She put a hand over her heart. "The honor is mine, Heimdall. To know that you're real is... a comfort, from my somewhat narrow perspective."

His smile widened slightly. "Such kind words..." He turned to Loki again. "To what do I owe the honor Your Majesty?"

Loki came to stand next to her. "She simply wished to meet you. And, as queen, it is only proper that she know the Bifrost and its faithful guardian."

"Wow." was all she uttered, as she had since turned her attention to the myriad of brilliant stars and... galaxies, outside. It seemed infinite, and perhaps it was. Exponentially more detailed than what was visible on the clearest desert night from Earth. It captured her eyes for several minutes. Then she looked to Loki with her amazement. He stood a few feet away with his hands behind his back, smiling at her with tired eyes. His armor flickered slightly, revealing itself as an illusion... and that he must be seriously depleted, to have let that happen to one simple, common projection. "Loki..."

"I know," he interrupted, looking down at himself. "I've not rested since you went missing, pet."

That was either surprisingly sweet and caring - or characteristically misleading. She could never tell which it was with him. Was he really being overprotective of the mother of his child in the city which only he ruled? Or was he just protective enough, because there were untold threats far worse than Halldora lurking at every turn?

She wanted to ask him about it, but as far as everyone knew, she'd never disappeared at all. She glanced at Heimdall, who had long since resumed his post. Loki shook his head and reassured her. "Heimdall sees all. He is aware of all that happened."

Unmoving, Heimdall spoke. "I keep the secrets of many, My Queen." She believed him completely because of the slight, weary inflection in his voice. The question of his knowledge was a familiar one. Well alright then.

"How did you find me?" She looked him over again as he dropped the illusion entirely, returning him to his plain black coat and green tunic. "You used your skills for that, didn't you?"

"I did. I searched for you constantly, until you awakened in her possession. I feared the worst. You are much more difficult to locate when there are no strong emotions to follow." He looked away, expressionless. "I'm sorry."

"No, but you _did_. That's all that matters," she lied, softly - unsure of why she even felt the need.

He slipped back into an angry quiet. But he hid it well. "Well then. Are you ready to return?"

She smiled sweetly and nodded. But her doubts harassed her the whole way back... and all the way up until she crawled into bed. He was being cold and distant again. She couldn't help but be secretly frightened of whatever it was that was powerful enough to disturb him so much.

She knew it was a dream. Her mind wouldn't let her lose her grasp on reality, even when she was asleep. But here she was, on the roof of some building at night, a high, cold wind blowing through her hair. Sure, I like psychology, let's see where this goes, she thought. But as she walked carefully toward the edge to see where she was, it began to feel more and more real. She wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the cold. She smelled smoke, and noticed that most of the buildings around her were on fire, and, coming into view as she neared, the rest of them were skeletons. The sound of the wind gave way to explosions, sirens and hysterical human screams. She gasped, and knelt at the very edge, to take in all there was below her. Bodies. Blood. Injured mothers and orphaned children crying; decimation as far as the eye could see.

Amongst the rubble were the mangled bodies of her coworkers, and she realized then that she was on one of the buildings which comprised the SHIELD facility she'd most recently worked at. Coulson, Barton, and the security personnel were some of the few still recognizable. Behind her, Loki's voice cut through it all. "Glorious, is it not?" She turned her head to see him smiling contentedly, in full golden armor and horned helmet. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw a blue energy blast. It killed the lone sniper on a nearby rooftop with one shot. Loki casually walked towards the center of the building, where in the shadows stood a tall, thin male figure, barely lit by the ethereal glow of the powerful cube in his hand... but his eyes glowed, dimly blue. He had his own battle armor. Loki beamed with pride. "I've never been so proud of you, Son." His son stayed in the shadows as they approached the edge again, marveling at the scene of destruction. "With this, you have proven yourself a worthy heir. You will rule the nine realms with an iron fist. None would dare defy you now."

Sara tried to hold back her tears. She'd thought Loki had changed. But he'd just been pretending all along, in order to get her to create another Tesseract-powered monster. From down on her knees, she looked at Loki. "Why?" she begged. He looked down on her with a slow, menacing laugh. "This has been your fate, pet, since the very first day we met. You were destined to give me a son..." He lifted her chin up to face him. "As beautiful as you, as strong as me, and with the power of the Tesseract... unstoppable." He let her go and turned away. "Unfortunately, I've grown weary of your defiance. And... as of now, I've no longer any use for you." She heard the man approaching from behind, and the next thing she knew, there was a dagger pressed against her throat. She tried to pull it away, but it didn't move. She tried every move she knew to get out of his hold, and struggled against him, but he countered them expertly and held her head in place by her hair. As the dagger began to draw blood, she desperately pulled and clawed at his arm, eliciting a chuckle from Loki. He watched, smiling, as it cut into her throat slowly, deeply. She could feel her warm blood flowing freely down her chest, soaking her shirt. Her agonized, blood-curdling scream was silenced quickly as he cut deeper, replaced only by the sickening, gurgling sound of her own death.

She woke up terrified, and tried desperately to draw a long, life-giving breath. But she couldn't! It was then that she realized she was still screaming. She stopped herself abruptly, steadied her breathing, and put her hands over her mouth for good measure.

It was only seconds before someone pounded hard on her door. "My Queen, are you well?" It was the loudest voice of several, just outside. Guards. Her lips said the words 'yes, I'm fine', but she had no voice at all. They didn't hear it. A different guard spoke. "My Queen... if you do not order us to desist at once, we _must_ break down the door."

The first priority was to cover up in case her voice failed her again. As she reached for her only blanket - which was on the floor more often than not - she heard them talking amongst themselves. Then the door opened, and a small head peeked around it - much closer to the ground than a guard's should be. "Your Highness?" called the girl whom she'd reluctantly accepted as her handmaiden. They made eye contact just as she'd reached the blanket. Great, she thought. That girl has seen me naked more times... "I mean... Sara," she corrected firmly. She'd been asked more than once to drop the queenly titles.

"I'm alright," she said finally, with extra kindness towards her. "I had a rather... jarring nightmare. I'm sorry." She raised her voice. "Sorry, guys!"

They hesitated. Probably waiting for someone to remember that 'guys' meant them. Then, a kind voice. "No need to apologize, My Queen. Rest well." The girl looked out the door as the sounds of armored footfalls echoed away. She turned back, came into the room just to make an awkward curtsy, then left. Sara smiled. But her smile suffered a quick death as soon as she was alone again.

She got up from the bed. The girl had forgotten to close the door. She wrapped the blanket around her and made a beeline for it. She pushed it shut from behind. Then she turned, and leaned against it. She slowly, subconsciously slid down to the floor, one arm over her belly, one hand over her face. And there she sat, for hours, contemplating her fears, digging down to the roots and the logic of them all. Mulling over everything, all the way back to when she'd first arrived in Asgard. She just _couldn't do_ this anymore. The sharp edges of doubt were starting to slice away her mask, possibly inducing psychosis, given that the very presence of Loki was what seemed to be causing her... instability. As well as that of the Tesseract...

She needed answers to determine how to proceed. Answers that Loki couldn't... or _wouldn't_ , give her. Ever.

She dressed herself in her least-damaged set of armor. She threaded all four of her daggers onto the belt. And as she looped it over her head once again, she made her way to the other side of the dresser. She opened a drawer, then paused, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she was done second-guessing herself, she picked up the fateful object inside. The flash drive. On it was everything she needed to know. She only needed to get to a Midgardian computer to access it.

She'd no idea what Loki would be willing to do to stop her. And she didn't want to find out. She needed to do this quickly, before anyone realized and woke him... provided he actually was sleeping, or 'resting'. Recharging. She took the least-used backstreets to the stables and selected a horse. One of her favorites. He was fast, but patient. He would wait for her a good long time before giving up and returning to town. And she trusted him well enough to ride bareback. Every gilded, elaborate saddle there would make a lot of noise.

As far as she could tell she was unseen, as they sped across the bridge of the Bifrost. He _should be_ resting, she worried. He'd have come if he'd heard her stupid screams. And he's drained. To recover from that, he usually takes the whole night.

The horses made journeys to the Bifrost so often that he slowed and stopped on his own near the end. She dismounted, stroked his nose reassuringly, and walked directly up to Heimdall this time.

"Heimdall."

He turned, and made that eery smile at her again. It seemed genuine enough. "It is a pleasure to see you again, My Queen."

"You guard... and operate, the Bifrost. Am I right?"

The smile faded a little. "Yes My Queen."

"Can you show me the way back to Midgard?"

He hesitated. "I can. You have but to step through the portal once it is created." Suddenly he was no longer smiling, and seemed to be looking even further away than before. "Forgive me Your Majesty... You are aware that your people still search for you..."

"They aren't all searching for me," she interrupted. "Please, send me back. And don't tell anyone that I was here."

He dipped his head slightly. "I am bound by honor to obey. However I must warn you: once there, you cannot return unaccompanied by an Asgardian."

Damn. But no. Loki would find her. Most likely before she was ready, and take her away against her will. There was nothing in their agreement about that. "Understood," she said. Then, reluctantly, "Consider this an order: Do not speak of this to anyone. Do not speak of this _to Loki_... unless my life is in danger." She remembered Loki's words. 'You will not survive this without me'. So, if for some reason Loki couldn't find her again, and she was stuck there all the way up until it was time...

He stared for a moment, conflicted. "My Queen..."

"Do it now, please."

He turned back to his post. "As you wish." He pushed the sword into its pillar, and a frighteningly fast-looking whirlwind of colors appeared. She took a few steps forward, uncertain of how exactly to 'step through' it, and looked back. Heimdall was once again stoic. So she moved closer, with slightly more confidence. And before she knew it she'd been pulled in, to an otherwordly rollercoaster of blinding speed and light, and the beautiful, fascinating experience of negating the vast distance between worlds.


	18. No Good Deed

So that _was_ concern I saw in Heimdall's magic eyes, she thought. From all the information they had on the Asgardians' visits, SHIELD had long ago deduced that the Bifrost could be aimed quite specifically. Despite this, in her rush, she'd neglected to specify _where_ on Midgard she wanted to go. It appeared that where Heimdall had put her was in the Midwestern US. In the middle of nowhere. Just outside a small town. In a cornfield. It was perfect. No direct witnesses, and no dense population to hide from, as she ran like a bat out of hell through the leafy darkness and away from the rune-burned site. She knew exactly how proficient SHIELD was now at locating, identifying and confronting those who came through the Bifrost... no matter where it opened up.

The cornfield's nearest edge was a dirt road, and the only lights anywhere were those of a small town at one end. But once she'd stopped running she could hear, every minute or so, trucks go by at high speeds, off in the distance. The sounds of an interstate highway. Maybe a twenty-minute walk from here, she thought. But she needed to find a much faster way out of the area. Twenty minutes was way too long to be outside, visible by ground and satellite, if SHIELD was at the top of their game tonight.

She followed the road towards the town. As she neared it, she found that it wasn't actually as close to the definition of 'town' as she had thought. The lights she'd seen were those of an enormous truck stop. Civilization was probably nearby. But the truck stop would suit her needs just fine. She removed the flash drive from her bag, and one dagger from her belt. She concealed them carefully in her right boot. Then she brushed some of the dust and corn pollen off, finger-combed her hair for a minute, and went inside to find a willing victim.

She left the rest of the daggers at her side. Hopefully, they'd serve as more of a deterrent. All morbid curiosity aside, she genuinely didn't want to _have_ to use them on anyone here.

She quickly located the main hangout in the big, multi-purpose building - a billiards room - and explained her presence there. All eyes had fixed on her as soon as she'd set foot in that room. "Hey um, would anybody here happen to be going towards ... ah..." she turned and gestured behind her. "...what is that highway again?"

"SR 70." said three truck drivers at the same time.

"Yes, that one. My car broke down about a mile back..." She took a wild guess. "East. SR 70 East is what I need." She saw no sign of suspicions amongst them still. But really, there was no reaction at all. All the overworked, unkempt and wary men did was stare at her some more. And not at her face either. She looked down at herself, put a hand on her belly and smiled sheepishly. "Dress rehearsals. I'm in a play downtown. Lady of the English," she said with pride and excitement in her voice. The way they looked around at each other then confirmed her theory that most truck drivers don't frequent plays.

"I'll be headin that way here in a few," offered a weighty, bearded older gentleman.

This group of gawking transients should be gone by the time the first agents show, she thought. If they even do. She thanked the gruff old man profusely before, during and after the trip. She had him drop her off at the edge of another random town, in what turned out to be Kansas. Far enough from the site to be well out of SHIELD's default search radius, but large enough, she hoped, to contain a library.

She sweet-talked and hitchhiked her way to the big library that was, in fact, there. It closed in fifteen minutes! She smiled at her apparent luck as she walked in. And of course, there were several computers free. She sat down at one and pulled the flash drive from her boot. But there was a conspicuous lack of USB port on this one. Hm. She looked down the rows of towers. Damn. Apparently the small-town dust collectors had had some bad experiences with people and their flash drives. Who knew.

However, she remembered seeing a good Plan B about a block away. A Starbucks. Hooray for America, where everyone everywhere was, at some level, addicted to computers and caffeine.

Without hesitation she made her way there, careful not to be too visible from the road. Now this, she thought as she pulled open the heavy glass door, might present a challenge. There were only a few people there that late with laptops. She watched them discreetly as she walked by. They were all so engrossed in their ventures; nobody even looked up from them to see the dusty, pregnant renaissance fair geek coming in. She sat down at a table in the corner, with no money, and waited.

Finally, a young male customer got up and made for the menu board. He left his laptop behind on the table, just for a minute. And she swiftly, casually swiped it on her way out.

She walked quickly yet calmly until she was completely behind the building. She knelt on the pavement with her back to the wall, pulled out the flash drive, and put it into the port in one motion. She closed her eyes for a second and put a hand on her belly, while the guy's overloaded operating system brought up the contents. She would use the Earth's defenses to protect this child from the poisonous power of the Tesseract. No matter what had to happen to her in the process.

To her dismay, the first thing she noticed was that there was no image file. She remembered going through just about every type of test and scan there was that day. And, thinking back on the doctor's reactions, she'd always assumed there was some sort of photo evidence for her condition. There was only one file of interest; a report, because the author was Dr. Talwar. She looked up and around frequently, and dedicated as much attention as possible to any and all sounds around her while she read it. She couldn't be too careful with this. If she went to jail, she went into the system, and SHIELD could find her _so very_ easily from there.

Scanning the document, a phrase caught her attention. 'alien DNA'. "Scans reveal alien DNA is present in the fetus. Its markers are consistent with those of the war criminal Loki of Asgard."

What? Which machine had possessed the ability to _scan for_ DNA? Fucking SHIELD.

Bunch of numbers, more numbers, then "Blood tests show levels of HGC beyond those of a normal pregnancy at full-term." Then, in the 'notes' section: "I've taken the liberty of equating the results to known rates of increase. I speculate that, if it were possible to proceed past nine months gestation, the results listed above would suggest that the subject has been producing HGC for one year. The fetus' stage of development, viewed alone, makes it seem as though it's only been developing for four months. But it is easily thirty percent larger than it should be. The evidence remains inconclusive as to the question of whether it's one of Loki's native race. Further testing will be required later in the pregnancy."

They knew. They knew all along that it had to be his! She wondered how long they'd known, before she did, that she was even pregnant.

"Patient reports the sensation of overheating, while maintaining a bodily temperature one to five degrees below the averages recorded before the incident which rendered her compromised."

Compromised. Everyone who worked with her had gone to great lengths to avoid using that term. But she knew. SHIELD didn't fully understand the workings of Loki's scepter, so she'd always be considered compromised, by the higher-ups who knew all the details. At one point she'd been grateful that all they did was limit the scope of her studies to in-house and friendly subjects. But still, to this day, the word burned shame and bitterness into her mind. It was a blunt and accurate description.

There was no image, or mention of an image, or description that could help her determine, at all, what Loki's baby would look like.

She was about to give up and remove the drive when she noticed, at the top of a report that she'd scanned past, an odd number. It was right next to her agent number, where her name would be if the document weren't classified. 'GR: 4372'.  
  
GR. No... the first thing that popped into her head just couldn't be what that was. Damn them and their incessant usage of numbers, abbreviations and acronyms, she seethed. She tried to think of some other, more likely meanings for it. She read all sections which might pertain to it, looking for clues. But that one possibility distracted her again and again. GR. Gifted Registry.  
  
She could ponder that later. She removed the drive, tucking it back into her boot, and thoroughly deleted the file from the laptop. She couldn't afford to risk the wrong people finding it somehow, and adding it to an unaccounted-for trail of breadcrumbs. For now, she'd have to accept the fact that she'd failed. She needed a place to hide out until she thought of something else - or until Loki found her again. She had a couple of ideas. Though, she might have to commandeer someone's vehicle to get there.  
  
She had neither need nor desire to be packing around the poor guy's laptop, and hadn't the heart to destroy it. So she sneaked back inside when she could, and returned it to the table. The guy was yelling at a manager. She couldn't help but chuckle at the likelihood that it was about the 'missing' laptop, and what he might do when he noticed that it was where he'd left it again. She'd just stepped out the door when she noticed a row of four identical, evenly-spaced sets of headlights barreling down the street, coming right off of the highway. The shiny, dark SUVs deftly cut around traffic, using any means possible to speed towards her location. She barely had time to duck inside the fenced-in dumpster area and close the gate behind her before she heard them all screech to a stop near the doors that she'd just left through. Armed agents filed into the unsuspecting coffee shop. When she looked through one of the fence's hinges she could see into the building, the darkness outside making the lit interior perfectly visible through its windows.  
  
One of them identified, then seized the laptop. The others questioned the customers, under varying amounts of duress. They took the laptop's owner into custody and spread out around the building, checking every crevasse for additional suspects. Namely, her. How in the hell did they manage to find, hack and trace a random, private laptop that just now read that information from a flash drive, she thought. Fucking SHIELD!  
  
Hiding was, perhaps, not the best idea. They'd definitely be checking where she was. She was surprised that they hadn't yet. She was trapped. The gate faced the building, and the building was swarming with agents looking specifically for her. Her best chance was to try and sneak out. She waited for a break in the well-armed, skulking figures, and slowly pushed open the gate. She used every ounce of skill she'd ever learned, staying low and silent, while taking advantage of cover whenever she could. She just needed to get to the road. Few people would refuse a panicky, pregnant hitchhiker. Suddenly, long, skinny fingers wrapped around her mouth and arm. Instantly she drew a blade, but the following voice was kind and gentle... and familiar.  
  
"Sara. It's me. Please don't stab me with that. I'm pretty sure if you do then I won't be able to help you anymore." The voice had a hint of laughter to it, despite the seriousness of the situation. Ben! It was agent Benjamin Lund, her former coworker, and the closest thing she'd ever had to a best friend. He let her go and she turned around, but before she could say anything he whispered to her harshly. "No time to explain. I know what's going on. I won't take you back to them..." he looked over his shoulder at another agent, who had just spotted her. "And now we have to run!" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along with him as they made a break for an SUV. Ben leapt in, and before she'd even closed her door they were already screeching out of the parking lot.

With one hand on the wheel, Ben began to take things off of the back seat, off the dashboard and himself, and throw them all out the window. She never knew he was that skilled of a driver! She only felt a very _mild_ fear of impending death. He glanced her way with an almost excited expression, and said "Hold on." Without slowing down he slid into the small section of dirt between east and west-bound lanes, cut across traffic, and took an exit on the other side. When she felt like she could move again, she looked back, just in time to see all three SUVs dodging and weaving between cars after them... and continuing in the opposite direction. They hadn't seen the turn. Most impressive! He'd lost them all... for now.

"Where are we going?" she asked nervously, finally able to catch her breath long enough to speak.

He pressed multiple buttons and rolled up all the windows at once. His thin brown hair stuck up in all directions from the wind. "I'm taking you someplace safe. I have friends there who can help you..." He took a relatively long look at her belly. "Sara... is it... Loki's?" he asked awkwardly. Now he was acting like the Ben she knew.

She chose to ignore that for now. "How did you find me?"

He frowned at her response. But he gave her all the details. He remained skilled and focused at the same time, as they traveled at breakneck speeds towards their apparent destination.

"When you went missing, the top brass flipped a freaking lid. They questioned everyone, studied everything. Theories flew around for what had happened to you, even at my clearance level. Until they found the readings... It took them awhile to isolate them from the huge area they were searching. But they managed to pull up satellite surveillance feed for where the Bifrost's signature had occurred. Not this one... the one before. It clearly shows a portal opening, but no traveler at all, in either direction. So they started a worldwide search. And that's where I joined in." He took a breath, and sighed.

"They were more than happy to have anyone who was a friend of yours help out. I gave them all I knew about you, then I started to help them search." His sharp, skinny-guy features took on a look of horrible guilt. "It was all under the pretext that you'd been kidnapped. And that they needed to find you before something bad happened." He lowered his brow and shook his head, remembering something difficult. "I just... had a feeling, that that wasn't all there was to it. I mean, a missing agent is one thing. But they were pulling out _all_ the stops. Every order they gave made it seem like they were trying to track down an escaped convict! Not someone who needed rescuing. So, when we finally got a hit - _this_ hit - I grew a pair, and asked them to take me along. I'm not 'combat-ready', you know. I'm pretty sure they only agreed because they thought you might come with me willingly." He nodded sideways in agreement with himself. "Apparently they were right."

She put a hand on the dagger again and glared at him suspiciously. "What."

He smiled his old squirrely smile at her. "Just kidding. Calm down, chick," he said, laughing between his words.

Only a minute later, he was much more serious. "I'm very glad you decided to trust me though. I just... I don't know what I'd do if I had to see you taken to one of those cells..." She stared at him, studying, analyzing every nuance of behavior he'd shown. He started to say more, but didn't get out any words. His lumpy throat twitched just barely, and his eyes began to glisten slightly, reflecting more brightly all the headlights on the road. He shook it off, in typical manly fashion, and changed the subject.

The trip lasted several hours, but - just like old times - the time flew by while they talked. They shared the same dark sense of humor, and there was never a shortage of things to make fun of when you were studying the supernatural. They had a lot of catching up to do. Occasionally he would try to steer the conversation in the direction of the baby, but he'd never press the issue. He was only curious, and concerned. For all he knew, she was carrying an alien that could kill her any minute, she realized.

Not once did he ask her where she'd been. They were both still laughing about the first time they'd each met Tony Stark, when he pulled into the parking lot of an enormous office building. The sky was still pitch black, and there were lights on already, at every level.

"This is it," he said simply. "Whatever you need, these guys can get it. They're completely unaffiliated. All they do is help out people who can't go anywhere else for help. Even people like you, who have an entire government on their tail... for reasons that don't exactly pan out." He grinned, and eyed her warmly. He was trying not to stare at her swollen middle. He never was very good at hiding his feelings, she remembered fondly. He gestured at the building's many floors as they crossed the lot. "You can stay here as long as you like. And they can help you with any - um - complications, and such, that may arise. They have experts of all kinds on-call. That's why I joined them. A lot of them are former SHIELD agents."

They walked through a little lobby area, and on the other side of those doors was a security station. Metal detectors. Multiple personnel. Airport-level security, it seemed. Before she even got there, a professionally-dressed guard stopped her gently. "Sorry, Miss. Absolutely no weapons allowed." He pointed to a sign that said the same.

She looked at Ben, who seemed to know what she was thinking. "It's okay." He thumped a hand onto her shoulder and shook it slightly. "Relax, chick. Nobody has weapons. Nobody _needs_ them. This isn't SHIELD." She conceded with a nod, and removed the whole belt over her head. The buckle was metal too. She still didn't want to relinquish her only weapon. And it was worth a shot to see if Asgardian metal had the same detectable properties as the metals here. So she went through, pretending to forget about it. It did.

After giving up the dagger, she made it through the metal detector. "Can I have my bag back?" she asked expectantly. She smiled and lightly touched her belly. "It's just water. _Always_ thirsty nowadays." They ran it through their scanner, dipped something into the liquid inside, studied it and gave it back. The belt too.

Ben was already at an elevator, using a panel to the left of the doors to open them. He ushered her in. "Sara, I want you to see this doctor first, alright? I just want to make sure you're okay."

She raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "I'd like to be sure of that too." If Dr. Talwar, with all his tests, couldn't see what the baby looked like, no way these guys could either. SHIELD was very resourceful and well-funded. They had buildings just like this one, everywhere, full of their self-important 'experts'.

They got off on the tenth floor. He led her down several hallways, to one that seemed to be filled with hospital beds... very sturdy hospital beds. The rooms had huge windows with open curtains, and everything inside was stainless steel except the beds themselves, which had the typical thin plastic cushion. They both went into one, then once she'd hoisted herself up onto the edge of the bed, Ben turned to leave. "I'm going to go get him. I imagine he'll want to do an ultrasound..." He actually blushed a little, and the pitch of his voice got higher. "I'll... just be right outside for that." He grinned, made a humorously elaborate bow, and left.

It was only a matter of minutes before the doctor showed up. It took less time, she noted, than it had for them to get from the security station to here. He was a tall, middle-aged man with neatly-groomed dark brown hair, and the absolute nerdiest pants and shoes that could possibly compliment a white coat. He looked like he belonged in a lab somewhere, not an office.

"Hello there. It's good to finally meet you, agent Iversen," he said, and smiled pleasantly as he put out his hand.

Ignoring the misuse of title, she shook his hand. "Finally?"

"Yes. Lund told us when he left to go rescue you from SHIELD. And, to be honest, I've heard much about you already. I'm very glad he was successful in doing so."

"Yeah, me too."

"So. How far along are you, dearie?"

She wasn't quite sure how to answer that. "I... did Ben explain to you the - um - possibilities here?"

"He did. It's just a formality. If I may speculate, it looks like you're a little over five months. I imagine this is your first..." He sat down on a simply-designed, all-metal office chair. "How about this: how long since you started to show?"

She stared for a moment, trying to figure exactly _how much_ he already knew. Nobody on Earth knows about monsters and their babies...

"Please don't be nervous on my account," he all but begged her with his eyes. "And never be afraid to let me know how I can make this more comfortable for you. Lund says you might be staying for awhile. That makes me your primary care physician." He seemed a little too happy about that, she thought suspiciously.

She was no stranger to doctors. But this was the first time she'd ever seen anyone who could be filed under 'obstetrician'. It was something she thought she'd never have to do.

She answered all of his questions to the best of her ability, and gradually relaxed a little, as she began to see how charismatic and professional he really was. He seemed to know how uncomfortable she was with all of this, and made every effort to keep her calm. There were several folded hospital gowns on one of the tables, but he only asked that she remove the armor, leaving her in her stretchy green tunic which, by itself, was like a very short dress. Remaining covered the whole time made her feel a whole lot better for some reason. Just before he started the ultrasound, he covered her lower half delicately with a blanket, and asked her to lift up the tunic. He touched her as little as possible. It was like he was reading her mind.

Sadly, the image it brought up of her baby was no more detailed than that of the soul forge. But it was good to see him again. Or rather, to see _her_ again. She positively glowed with pride as soon as she realized that she was having a girl. The doctor had to stop and wait a few minutes, while she tried to contain her laughter.

Then, to add to the awkwardness of the event, her stomach growled, quite audibly. She looked at the doctor with wide eyes, and he laughed. "After this I'll see to it that somebody buys you dinner." He continued on with the scan and, after declaring everything 'seemingly normal', he left to go check on the lab results.

Staying awake was a challenge, once alone in the room again. She waited there on the bed for so long that she found herself literally nodding off. She made her best attempts to stay upright, but her head obstinately disagreed with that decision. She decided she'd rather rest her aching body on the bed than risk falling off of it. It was already set at the perfect angle to do so; to keep her propped up but comfortable. She had no intention of going to sleep in a strange place.

After a while, the time that had passed began to weave some worries into her tired frame of mind. And eventually, there were more worries than mind. She was in the process of determining just how long she should stay in the room, when she heard what sounded like whispers in the hall. She sat up. Then it stopped. She wasn't sure she'd heard anything at all. If she had, it could have been the building's pipes, or something being shuffled down the hallway. But she was so damned nervous that she just... really needed to make sure; to make her brain shut up about it. She pressed her ear to the space between the cold metal door and the colder metal wall. This time, her paranoid suspicions were correct.

It was the doctor's lower voice she heard first. "...was right. She confirmed it herself. And it certainly appears as if she's been pregnant for... around... 17 months."

Then, a slightly higher, clear, and yet more monotone voice. "But its development is analogous to a human's at 5 or 6."

"Pretty much. I mean, all I have to go on is appearances, at the moment. Speaking of which... I can confirm the reports as accurate personality-wise. She's not trusting of anyone, in any situation. No amount of kindness is going to change that. And she's a known runner. But she _does_ still believe she's free to leave, and she seems to be desperate for help. I suggest you take advantage of that, for as long as you possibly can..."

The other man was calm, but condescending. "I don't recall asking for suggestions, Doctor. You are _not_ familiar with my methods. Perhaps what _you_ believe should be done is actually counterproductive to obtaining her compliance."

The doctor paused. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"Apology accepted. And you may leave. I will speak with her alone."

The shock of what she'd just heard rendered her tired mind thoughtless... for a second. They were too far away for her to be able to discern any footsteps. But she knew he'd be headed her way. Instinctively, she also knew that this was not the kind of person she could fight mentally. She couldn't afford to be alone with him, not like this.

The hallway she'd been taken down was a long one. But she still should've had no problem hearing them if they were right there, she reasoned. That meant they were around a corner somewhere. She still had time. RUN.

She didn't bother with stealth at that point. She swung open the door and bolted down the hallway towards the east end of the building. Hyper-aware as usual, and thinking constantly of escape plans, she'd noticed on the way in that there was a fire escape on that side. Same side; this level included.

She paused at the end of the hall to look around; see which direction had windows at the right distance. The answer was both. But both of the long, high-set windows were much further away than she'd thought. The snap decision she made was that it was more likely for them to connect a fire escape near the rooms that were larger, and therefore more frequented, as evidenced by the presence of multiple sets of hospital-style double doors and the wall space in between them. She turned right and ran towards that hallway's window as fast as she possibly could.

As soon as she stopped running, she could hear lots of fast, heavy footsteps coming for her. At least six! They were already well past the room she was supposed to still be in. The window she'd reached had a lock on it, but there was a free-hanging fire extinguisher right behind her. Not a problem. Then, her heart sank low, into the burning pit that was her stomach. She looked _out_ the window this time. No fire escape there. She'd made a horrible, panic-inducing mistake. She started back towards the intersection at which she'd made that mistake, but was quickly intercepted by four guys in black combat armor. The all carried large guns with them... and all were aimed right at her. But they won't shoot, she remembered. They need me alive for some reason. She turned and ran again, the armored men not far behind.

Frantically, she yanked on the handle of a set of double doors. They were locked. She could probably bust the lock... but before she could turn to check on how close her pursuers were, she found herself seeing the whites of their eyes. The soldier-like men moved strategically to surround her on all sides. In pure and simple panic, she backed into the thick metal doors behind her. She put her arms over her belly and plastered herself to them as they closed in on her, wishing she could think of a way to open them fast enough. Three guns pointed at her now. One at each shoulder, and one at her knees. They _would_ shoot. Just not to kill. The fourth was manipulating something on his helmet, then speaking, as he watched. Reporting back to someone. But nobody grabbed her anywhere, to take her wherever they wanted her to be. They'd simply stopped her from running. Then the man whose voice was not the doctor's approached, flanked by more soldiers. The very focused one with the gun pointed at her knees moved aside to let him into their little circle.

He was a thin, middle-aged man wearing an all-grey suit, which complimented his short grey hair. He had the most curious, tight-lipped smile on his face, and odd glasses... the kind with the circular lenses. A stark black contrast to the rest of his distinguished, white-collar attire.

"No need to flee, Ms. Iversen," he said kindly. "We just want to talk."

He offered her his hand, positioned to take her out of the circle. Then he dropped it quickly, unaffected by her refusal. "You may refer to me as Doctor Daniel Whitehall. I am a member of an organization which seeks out individuals such as yourself. We'd like to help you and, in exchange, give you the opportunity to help us change the world."

The man's very presence, for some reason, was terrifying. She continued to hug herself, and glared at the floor. "I don't want your help." She eyed all the soldiers with guns, then forced herself to make eye contact. "And if you keep me here; as your prisoner, I'm going to act like one. I sure as hell am not going to _help you_. I'll only be a drain on your resources, and a _tremendous_ pain in your ass."

He nodded slightly. "Fair enough." He looked around at everyone, and held up a finger. "But you may reconsider that threat, once you better understand your circumstances. Allow me to give a more... direct description of us." He grinned - mostly with his eyes - and there was a spark of pride in there too, she noticed, when she lifted up her head. His curious gaze never moved away from her face. "Comrades." He held out his hands. "Hail Hydra."

"Hail Hydra!" Everyone in the hall exuberantly echoed his words.

Her mind went directly from defiant, to dumbstruck. The name instantly shattered all remaining hope of escape, and filled the hole it left with a new, paralyzing fear. The base thought - that there was no escaping Hydra, especially in one of their own massive strongholds - took root in the back of her mind, and infused the other thoughts with panic. She suppressed it quickly before it could affect the logical parts of her mind. That was just what they wanted. They'd read her profile, and were already trying to break her of her will. She steadied her breathing. But her heart was out of control. She said nothing, and glared at her feet this time. Whitehall looked at them too.

"I suppose I could have you dragged, kicking and screaming, to where you need to be. But wouldn't you rather _comply_ ; come with me willingly, to a place that's much more comfortable?"

She glanced up at him again, intending to look back down, but the look in his eyes was too unnerving to ignore. It was like he was always laughing at her, cruelly, torturously, yet he never made a sound nor even a more complex facial expression. He was cold; discreet. Unfazeable.

He didn't give her much time to respond. He dropped the smile and motioned to the agents he'd brought with him. They pushed through the circle of guns and pried her arms away from her. The armed agents tensed up a bit in anticipation of her reaction, but she let them do it, still refusing to make eye contact. One took her upper arm into a firm hold, and the one on the other side gripped her shoulder. They led her back to the hospital room she'd just fled from. She'd really, desperately hoped instead to be taken to some sort of cell.


	19. Monsters and Their Babies

The guards led her right up to the edge of the bed. She sat there, as their shove strongly suggested. She'd used up a lot of energy in the attempt to save her baby and herself from whatever these people wanted. And where was Ben for all of this? Had he been captured too? Or was he one of them? She didn't like that thought. If he was one of them, then they knew everything. Everything she'd ever told him, on or off official records. But not about Asgard, or Loki's heir, or jotun biology, she reminded herself. She folded her arms over her belly. And they never, ever would.

She quickly took note of how they planned to keep her in that room. Then she stared at the wall, in silent defiance. Doctor Whitehall lingered behind the rest of the group. Two of the gunmen set up camp outside the door to her left, and one in the corner to her right.

"Now," he started, as he came in from the hall. "To make things perfectly clear: What we are offering you, is the survival and safety of both you and your child - here at our facility - and all of the services we can provide. What you must offer us in exchange, is some very elusive answers regarding the child's conception." He crossed the floor to stand in front of her, hands in his pockets. "If you refuse..." He narrowed his eyes at her. She kept her expression blank... or so she thought. She couldn't help but look at him for a second, in anticipation of the threat.

He read the fleeting expression, and smiled slightly. "No, Ms. Iversen, it won't be necessary to torture you." He leaned in to level his gaze with hers. His face was all she could see, but she looked right through him, refusing to acknowledge anything he was saying. "Unless, of course, you count the pains of your labor." He furrowed his brow, and his voice took on a dramatically sympathetic tone. "The severity would be increased exponentially by the size of the child, I'm sure. I imagine you'd want to submit, then, to such a _powerful_ desire for someone to alleviate your suffering." He paused, searching for a reaction. But she wasn't about to slip up again. He conceded to that with a nod. "We may simply have to wait and see." Then he delicately placed a hand on her belly, and said darkly, "I'm a very patient man."

He'd barely touched her. But she snapped. With speed backed by fear, and strength fueled by fury, she punched him hard in his left eye. His head snapped to the side, and she heard his neck crack too. But he was still able to catch her wrist right after contact. There was a gun pointed at her now, and she jumped slightly at its proximity to her head. The soldier had stepped up instantly to prevent any further assault.

Whitehall turned his head back slowly and stood up straight, eyes widened in anger, but disturbingly calm. He put his hand up to the soldier, who lowered his weapon. The doctor's expression had hardly changed at all. And he'd reacted extraordinarily quickly to that hit. The old guy in the fancy business suit had some surprisingly high-level combat skills.

She wasn't quite strong enough to get free of his grip. But a satisfied smile crept across her lips when she noticed she'd broken his glasses. He removed them with one hand, and held her arm up with the other. He stared her down without them. All sympathy, real or fake, was gone from his voice now. "The level of your compliance, of course, determines how you're treated during your stay." He passed her wrist to the soldier, and turned away, checking his eye for blood and broken glass. "Restraints."

A chill ran through her when she realized what that meant. The man pulled her wrist down onto the bed and, despite her attempts to yank it away, fastened it there with a strap he'd brought up from under the thin white pad.

"No!" she yelled, exploding into panic. Immediately she turned to free it with the other hand. But the guard on the other side grabbed her upper arm. He used it to pull her towards him and pin her flat against the back of the bed. Her voice cracked into a scream as she strained to get up. "Don't you fucking touch me!" He gave her a threatening look, and held her there, as the two soldiers in the hall closed in to help them execute the order. Doctor Whitehall had left the room, without a second glance.

It was then that she lost all composure. Adrenaline-fueled rage took her over. She wrenched her upper arm free and was able to twist to reach her wrist again. She clawed at the strap for a second, but the man grabbed both that and her shoulder this time, and pulled her right back down. He leaned on them both, as the other one fastened that wrist to the bed as well.

Her words came out in a shrill cry. "No! Let me go!" She thrashed wildly, trying to fight what was happening, but she couldn't even sit up all the way. They moved to her legs and pinned them down, working as a team against her furious kicks and struggles. She couldn't move much anymore, under both their weight and hers. She felt her legs being repositioned, they removed her boots first and, one after the other, her ankles were secured in place. Then she noticed that the guard was still holding her down. This was because they were applying straps to her upper arms as well. There wasn't a thing she could do about the one being tightened down low over her hips. But the humiliation of so many people touching her everywhere - with only the thin tunic stretched over her body - kept the fires of hysteria burning strong. She screamed and writhed, uselessly. But she was burning up on the outside too... and as that registered, it filled her with a different kind of fear. She needed to stay cool. If she overheated, and the baby reacted to it here...

She gave up. She lay still. She focused on breathing, and fighting back her tears. The team went back over each restraint, cinching them down to the point where it would cause her varying degrees of pain to move. She was completely immobilized by the time the doctor returned, with several others, all either nicely-dressed or in white coats... the nerdy-looking doctor among them. They stayed outside the room, and gradually migrated to the windows, as Doctor Whitehall stepped in once again. He had a clean face, and new glasses set over the big, bruised eyelid which he could no longer open.

It was almost impossible to hide the level of fear she felt now. It was pure and raw, coursing through her veins, flooding her mind. She was helpless; at the mercy of the homicidal fanatics she'd heard so much about these last few years of her life.

He approached slowly, hands folded in contemplation. "The screams I heard suggest that you don't like what has happened here." She jerked upwards angrily and glared daggers at him, a warning not to touch her again, even though it was quite the empty threat. "Violence will not be tolerated. However... compliance will be rewarded. Perhaps you can earn back your freedom by answering a few of our questions."

Through gritted teeth, she replied, "What _the fuck_ do you want from me?"

He glanced at her middle, then looked at her with mock kindness. "That is some precious cargo you have there. What we want to know, first and foremost, is who... or _what_... the father is."

She summoned all her skills and training, and looked him right in the eyes. "I don't know."

With an exasperated expression, he countered, "I think you do."

He hadn't even hesitated. That means they already have their own theory, she thought. What could they have come up with? She'd watched SHIELD's security agents erase all the data they had on her right away...

He stood uncomfortably close, but kept his hands to himself, as he spoke. "Well, here's what we know. We know that Dr. Talwar discovered something unusual about you. Unusual enough to call a code 4: compromised agent. We know that you were being transported to their 'guest quarters', and that you ran. You ran to the garage and were recaptured. Then - and only in that garage - SHIELD's hacker-proof, indestructible cameras all at once ceased to function. None our agents have ever found a way to access that feed, nor the power source." He paused to look at her curiously. She listened, but offered no input on the matter. "But, I digress. Now, sometime during the blackout, two of SHIELD's top security agents received some rather nasty concussions, and the good doctor Talwar was murdered. Then, you simply disappeared. Which brings us to our second question: Where _is it_ that you went, Ms. Iversen?"

They had to already know of her past. That was relatively low-clearance information. But he'd made sure not to include it in his speech. That meant that they considered it a vital piece of the puzzle. And that she could never say a word about it. Hydra desired nothing more than power. And there are few things more powerful than gods. Namely, Loki.

"Wherever you went - and however you got there - you weren't pregnant when you left. And nobody could find you, for _five months_. With this information, we can safely conclude that what's inside you isn't human. The third question is, what is it?"

She furrowed her brow. "I... always assumed that it was human..." she said despondently. "How else could I even get pregnant?" She stared off into the distance as if in deep thought.

Suddenly his hand slammed down onto the bed next to her, and his face was close to hers. He spoke with a fervent passion. "Don't you _want_ your freedom, Sara? You can have it. _Take it_. Compliance will be _rewarded_."

She closed her eyes in an attempt to stay calm. It was all she could do. But she could feel herself beginning to shake. Then her stomach hurt, and growled. He tilted his head, and smiled sympathetically. "You're afraid. Tired. Hungry. We'll give you everything you need. And all you have to do is let go of your ill-gotten allegiance to the man whose child you carry. He wasn't with you when we found you. He's not coming to your rescue. And, either way, you _will_ tell us what we need to know." She clenched her jaw, and opened her eyes to glower at him from under a lowered brow. He stood up next to the bed again. "Until you do... your body will remain under our control."

Her shaking was getting worse. She couldn't concentrate on staying strong, fighting the shakes and the tears all at once... so she let them fall. He already knew she was afraid; that much was obvious. But that didn't mean she was going to surrender. Ever.

There was a low, sinister frustration in his voice now, even as he watched a tear roll down her cheek. "I will ask you one more time, Sara. Who. Is. The. Father."

Cutting right through the fear, showing nothing but sheer contempt, she mocked him. "I. Don't. Know."

He opened his arms, as if he were giving up... but he turned to the others outside the window instead. Incredulously, he said, "She's still refusing to say." He nodded slightly. "Go ahead with the A.C."

Her glowering weakened a bit. The what? He'd said they weren't going to torture her. And she'd believed him. They were way too interested in her baby to want to do something like that. They wouldn't risk harming it, or her to the point that she'd go into an early labor. But apparently they weren't going to wait for her to answer them any longer. She composed herself, preparing for the worst. No torture would make her tell them. No torture could be as bad as the things that would happen if she told them whose baby this was.

One of the doctors came in, and set up the ultrasound equipment again. His face was expressionless. He had the same creepy serenity as Doctor Whitehall. Strange, she thought. The machine was only capable of doing one thing, right? Same results as before...

Then a second doctor came in. It was the one she'd met before. Except he was no longer caring, or concerned for her comfort at all. He cut through the guards and soldiers to get to her quickly, and the only thing in his hands was a very long needle. She gasped, and began to shake more violently, in sheer terror. "What... what are you going to do with that?" He glanced at her but didn't respond. The shakiness reached her voice. "Please..."

He looked her over carefully at that. Then he eyed the first doctor, and Whitehall, who was standing in the hallway, watching intently. He looked back down at her. "We're going to take a sample of your baby's DNA. Neither of you will be harmed... though, there may be some discomfort." He waited patiently next to her, opposite the other doctor, who said nothing. He simply lifted up the tunic, and applied the gel and transducer to her belly.

She flinched at each touch. Then, when he uncapped the needle, she lost it completely. The feeling of helplessness in the face of this procedure was too much. They wouldn't hurt the baby, she told herself over and over. But she began to cry again, and soon was unable to control her whimpers and sobs. It didn't matter anyway. They knew she was scared, and they probably saw it as a good thing. It might make her give in to them. She gasped, fighting for air between sobs. She was actually considering telling them, so as not to be stabbed with that thing. These people were insane. Did they even know what they were doing? Oh god. "Please," she begged, pathetically. "Please don't. Don't do this... You don't have to do this!" She stopped yelling, and tried with all her might to calm down. But she couldn't help but wrench on the restraints hard, even more desperate to escape them.

Doctor Whitehall lifted his head, interested in only her last statement. "Does that mean you're ready to comply?"

She closed her eyes. She had to remain strong. They still didn't know what SHIELD knew. And Loki would find her before they could find out. She just had to hold out until morning.

Her 'primary care physician' put a hand on her quivering arm, and said "You're going to want to stop moving, dearie." The words and voice were soothing, but his smile was more cruel than kind. That wasn't concern. It was a warning.

Through sheer willpower, she was able to stop moving - just for a minute. But as soon as she did, she felt a sharp pain in her belly. She cried out - more out of shock than pain - and was horrified to see the needle already sliding in. The doctor didn't react to her, but was watching the screen intently. Her shaking and gasping were coming back. And before she knew it, it was out of control. An immense, painful pressure was building up inside her. She couldn't stop her shaking, and they were going to hurt the baby! She screamed again, this time in a fit of rage, unable to stand the thought of what might happen. The doctor stared at her, surprised, then looked back down and withdrew the needle. "I can't do this with her all keyed up like that. Somebody give her a sedative."

The doctors in the hall all looked at one professionally-dressed, thin woman. She left the group quickly, speed-walking down the hall, fastening the buttons on her long white coat as she went.

Sara broke down. She hung her head and sobbed, sniffling, unable to even wipe away the fluids that were running down her face. She'd never been so afraid in her life. Only one thought kept her sane: fight. Fight for the baby. Fight the fear, fight the sedative, you will not do what they want!

When the woman came back in with the sedative, a guard approached the bed with her, on the other side. He lifted her head up by her chin, and pushed her forehead back onto the bed. But he was looking at her funny. He touched the part of her chest exposed by the low-cut tunic as well. "She's warm..." he said in dismay. " _Very_ warm, Sir." He wiped the hand he'd touched her with off on his pants and stepped away. The two doctors who'd moved aside to let them in came up and touched her as well, on her belly and her arm. She struggled angrily against the restraints some more, but then stopped, as a bead of sweat rolled down and stung her eye. Oh no.

Doctor Whitehall came in, and gently wrapped a hand around her ankle. "Fascinating," he said, staring at her face with a smile in his eyes. She closed her eyes and ignored them all. She would not show any indication that she knew what was happening here. She heard him say to them reassuringly, "I believe it's because of all of the stress she's undergone attempting to free herself. The sedative should compensate for it."

Suddenly she felt her forehead being pressed back onto the bed again, and she opened her eyes, only to see the woman quickly inject something into the side of her neck. She jerked forward in response to the pain, but the guard held her head up and back until she was done. Her trembling increased again, as she tried to resist the drug's effects. She shook her head violently to clear it, but it became too difficult to move. It fell back down onto the bed. From there she could only watch as her trembling gradually weakened, and stopped. She was still. She felt every muscle in her body relax completely. And she was so tired... had to fight to stay awake. Against her will, her head rolled over to one side. She could barely see the needle go in again, out of the corner of her eye, but she could still feel it. Another sting of pain, and pressure, getting worse as he pushed it in further. A small cry escaped her lips, and the tears were flowing again, but she couldn't do anything about it. The doctor watched the screen, and narrowed his eyes a bit. Then he used the syringe to draw out a clear fluid, removed the needle, and handed it to someone she couldn't see.

Within minutes, she began to feel another kind of pain. It was about the same as a menstrual cramp, which alarmed her, and she let out a sharp breath. It drew the doctor's attention for a moment.

Her voice was soft. It was too difficult to summon a breath deep enough to raise it. "Doctor, please. Please listen to me."

He looked her way again, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"It hurts. There's a... dull pain, like a cramp... but stronger. Why does it still hurt? Is everything okay?"

He smiled, and shook his head. "It's a shame. You'd probably be a good mother. Here you are, tied to a bed in a Hydra medical facility, at the mercy of unknown intentions... faced with a birth that you - in all likelihood - won't survive, and what you beg for, is the knowledge that your baby is alright."

She closed her leaky eyes. "Please."

"It is. Everything is alright. Your uterus just had a needle stuck into it, twice. Because of your stubbornness, I might add. Of course it's going to hurt." Then his smile disappeared. "I highly recommend that you cooperate with us from now on. If our suspicions are correct, things will only get worse for you both if you don't."

She blinked back her tears and ignored that last part. They packed up their equipment and left her there, with only the armed soldier in the corner for company. Nobody had even bothered to pull the tunic back down over her belly. She hoped they weren't planning to do it again. They shouldn't have to, she thought. They got what they wanted. And now... now they would find out. At least that it wasn't human. The question was, would they recognize Loki's DNA. She knew SHIELD had a sample, locked up somewhere... it didn't really matter either way. Anything inhuman was always of interest to Hydra. As she stared at her exposed, swollen middle, she tried to think of what their end goal might be. But now that it was quiet and calm, and she couldn't move at all, she was losing the battle with the sedative. Before she knew it, all those ideas were fading away, and she succumbed to some much-needed sleep.

A burning pain on both her wrists jolted her awake. She lunged forward to sit up from the bed, and clasped her hands to her chest. To her surprise, was actually able to do all that. She looked down at herself. Both wrists had shiny red burn marks around them... from twisting and pulling on the restraints, she realized. Her ankles too, to a much lesser extent. There was a clear gooey substance on them, and an irritated-looking nerd-doctor at her side, holding a jar of the same. He made no attempt to seem kind. "Give me your wrists."

She wasn't sure if that was all he planned to do with them, and her first thought was to run from the room so as not to be tied down again. No one was in her way. But with a second look, she could see two warped shadows in the shine of the tile floor just outside the door. The two armed guards, still standing at attention. And then there was the one in the corner. He'd react to any assault on the two-faced asshole doctor, just as he had with Whitehall. She smiled again, cherishing the mental image of his contorted face at the moment of its collision with her fist.

The doctor raised his voice. "Hey! Give me your wrists, or I'll have them strapped down again." She glared at him, but did as she was told. He continued to apply the stinging goo, then wrapped them up in gauze, and moved on to her ankles. Fortunately, someone had pulled her tunic back down over her all the way.

Doctor Whitehall's sudden return made her snap her head back up, to watch him. Her legs must have twitched a little too - thanks to her eternally screaming instinct to get away - as the doctor working on them gripped the end of her foot tightly, holding it still. But Whitehall had in-tow a young female assistant, who carried a cafeteria-style tray full of... just, fantastic-smelling foods. It was enough to pry her eyes off of him to ogle it for a minute.

His tight-lipped smile widened, and he motioned for the tray to be placed onto her lap. Sara immediately steadied it there, but peered at him suspiciously. He offered an explanation. "I hate to see an expectant mother deprived of nutrition, essential as it is to the development of her child. When was it that you last ate, Ms. Iversen?"

She filed that under 'things that happened in Asgard', and therefore didn't answer.

"The demands of your baby are probably most unbearable, being that it's the child of the brother of Thor. And yet... the math doesn't quite work out. It was conceived during your time in captivity, wasn't it?"

Her eyes flashed shock at the sudden stab of the truth though her defenses. She closed them. She'd slipped. She knew it. And so did he.

"I understand now why you've returned to Earth, in spite of your condition. I doubt there are many humans who could survive in the presence of Loki Laufeyson for as long as you did. But why, I wonder, wouldn't he simply kill you instead, to keep his new image in tact?"

She picked up the plastic fork she was given, and tasted the mystery noodles that took up most of one of the plates. Then she finished them off, voraciously, entirely too happy to be placating her painful, growling stomach. She watched him carefully as she chewed large mouthfuls of... well... everything.

"I'm betting he knows what you are."

She slurped down a tiny cup of juicy peach chunks, and replied impassively, "What am I."

He moved a little closer. "We were hoping that you could tell us."

With her mouth still full of food, she answered, "Nope." Then, a sharp pain. She winced, and swallowed. She put her free hand on her belly where it had come from. A kick! It had been so long since it last happened. The baby had managed to catch her by surprise again.

He lifted his head at that, and furrowed his brow. "Our analysts found some very interesting things in your baby's DNA. When pressed for a description of the species, what they said was 'not quite human'. That's when we tested for Loki's DNA, courtesy of SHIELD. And lo and behold, there it was. Your child is half frost giant. But... you already knew that, didn't you, Sara?"

She stopped eating altogether. She folded her legs up underneath her, and placed the tray on the bed instead. She stared intensely right into his eyes. "Why do you care? What are you trying to do? _Why are you keeping me here_?" she yelled.

He met her eyes with a smirk. "Since you asked so nicely. Your DNA, for reasons unknown, is compatible with that of the frost giant. It's been speculated that it could be something as simple as your heritage. We haven't tested many women with Norwegian backgrounds. We'll start with that as soon as possible. But in the meantime, what you are to us, is more than just an asset. You're _a source_ of assets. With your help, we can create a force powerful enough to bring order to this world." Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. "Of course, your presence will be required throughout the process."

"You... No! You can't do this! I..."

"We can," he interrupted. "Don't worry, Ms. Iversen; you'll be very well cared for. After all, we need to be sure your child is born at full health, and that you survive as well. Eventually we may gain the ability to replicate your DNA, more easily than taking it from you. But only then will you no longer be necessary to facilitate our goals." She felt sick. She put a hand over her mouth, and stared off into nothingness. "I'd like to assure you also, that you have no say in the matter," he stated cruelly, as he turned to leave.

Again she shook with anger, and was about to scream obscenities at him... but all that was interrupted, by the sound of rapid gunfire. It was close; somewhere on this level. The two soldiers outside bolted down the hall towards where it seemed to be coming from, and more gunfire, multiple different types, immediately followed their departure.

For the first time, she could discern from Doctor Whitehall's stoic expression, some unease... a true cause for alarm. His eyes darted from the doorway to the soldier behind her. He pointed at her and hastily ordered "Get her out of here. Take her to Base Thirty-one." Suddenly, darkness. A large black bag had been flung over her head. Before she could react there was a vice-like grip on her shoulder, which was used to force her to her feet. She fought and screamed, but her voice was cut off by a swift blow to the head. "Quiet!" he hissed into her ear. Reeling from the hit, she focused instead on not allowing herself to fall as she was marched towards another unknown destination.

 


	20. The Subjectivity of Freedom

Blind, and with only the one-handed grip the agent had on her upper arm to guide her, she couldn't help but stumble every once in a while. The first few times she stopped to get her bearings were met with a warning jab from his gun. But at least she was being led away from the firefight. She decided she'd cooperate... for now.

Once they'd put some distance between them and the nearly-constant, deafening noise, he began to whisper harsh orders to her instead. "Left," he said, right before tugging her into a left turn down another hallway. "Steps" was all the warning she got before she almost fell down a stairwell she'd no idea was even there. He used her arm to pull her back, steadying her with a hand on her chest. "Lots of steps," he corrected. As she heard him lift the gun back into its defensive position she regained her balance, and her breath. But she concentrated on judging the distance between steps, so the baby's life wouldn't rest quite so squarely on her escort's reaction time and willingness to drop his weapon again.

For the most part he didn't speak to her. But when he did, the overt hostility made her nervous. He was jumpy. He seemed to be the trigger-happy type. Suddenly, she heard the arm that held the gun jerk forward. She cried out in fear, thinking he was about to shoot her. He stopped walking for a second to issue a threat. "Listen: Whitehall is the scientist here. He's the _only_ one who cares what condition you arrive in. The objective is to get you there. I _will_ knock you out, if you can't be silent." As he spoke, a second set of feet joined them. What he'd actually been doing was motioning to someone else. Oh, she thought. Great. The flattery of being overestimated was easily outweighed by the demolition of her hopes of getting away from a single captor. She'd never heard of the place they were trying to take her. But she knew that the more she moved around, the more people she met and the deeper she was taken into hiding, the more difficult it would be for Loki to find her. Now that they've known for a while how he used Selvig, they might have even found a way to block his skills entirely!

"This her?" the new one asked brusquely.

"Yep. Fragile. Handle with care." Her new escort chuckled lightly and took her from the first. This one's hands were larger, and he preferred the tight grip of her arms crossed behind her back. She almost screamed as he repositioned her burned wrists, but she managed to let out only a squeak of displeasure. "Sorry, girl," he said somewhat sincerely. "You've got a reputation. Can _not_ risk you gettin loose." Her head still hurt from the first time she'd made noise. If she took another hit she'd fall. She kept her scathing insults to herself.

A door opened for them, and they stepped outside. It was much warmer, and - to her dismay - still dark. It felt like she'd been tied to that bed for several hours. But she could no longer even see shadows through the bag, because there was no light there to make them. She hung her head, and finally admitted to herself that she was _stupid_ for coming here. Stupid to underestimate these people's ability to find her so quickly. And it was all because she'd refused to trust Loki. In her own defense though, she'd never have thought that they'd waste so many resources; spend so much time and effort to catch her, when all she was trying to do was hide. Then again, she never expected to wake up from having her heart pulverized either...

SHIELD had always been cryptic about her value to them. And why Loki thought she was worthy of a life in Asgard was beyond her. Whitehall's words kept echoing in her head. ' _I'm betting he knows what you are_ '.

The ground beneath her feet went from feeling like sidewalk to asphalt. The parking lot. She was about to run out of time. She shook off those worries for now. Jumbled fragments of ideas began to piece themselves together as she tried to think of a way to avoid getting in that vehicle. The baby card seemed like the best play, but it was vague. She wasn't familiar with the actual symptoms for any of the problems she could fake. So she used the skills she did have. She tried to figure out, based on what she'd seen of them, which problem would seem the least questionable to the Hydra-agent type of man. She was so focused on that, that she didn't notice at first when she wasn't being pushed forward anymore.

Suddenly the grip on her wrists tightened, and there was the unmistakable feeling of a gun against her head. She stopped dead, assuming her slowness to do so was the reason for the threat. But her heart was pounding in her chest. For her, there was absolutely no fighting a gun. And if she tried to negotiate, they may very well decide to cut their losses and pull the trigger. It would be a great way to make her quiet, and so much easier to transport. DNA was DNA, living or dead, something was going on here that was well out of their control, and Hydra wasn't known for their reluctance to sacrifice an asset.

A soft, meek, and yet oddly commanding male voice called out from directly in front of them, several feet away. It seemed to belong to someone who was in charge; someone who didn't need to be loud or aggressive to be heard. And he wasn't alone. More footsteps, and the faint rattling of guns and armor, followed him into confrontation with her captors. "Oh, I'm so glad you found her!" he said with exaggerated relief. "We were _very_ worried."

The voice was definitely familiar, but in her present state of anxiety, she couldn't quite place it.

The man with the assault rifle wasn't amused. "Funny... I heard this one wasn't yours anymore, Mister..."

There was a friendly, distinctly fake smile in his voice. "Hey, any friend of hers is a friend of mine. You can call me Phil."

Coulson! For a split second she was positively elated to hear it was him. Then she remembered more precisely what that meant. A SHIELD extraction team, led by Coulson. Himself. In the field. Lesser of the evils perhaps? ... _Fuck_.

"Hi Phil. I'm Ty." He pulled her closer, and sighed. "I'm not the type to play games, Phil. So I'll be straight with you. I've got orders to let God take this girl before letting you. That means it _doesn't matter_ how big your possy is. Cause I'm gonna follow those orders."

"Understandable..." Coulson paused for dramatic effect. "But, here's the thing: this... one agent, isn't Hydra's only interest, right? I think we both know that. We may be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement here."

"Nah, I kinda like the agreement that's already been implied." The gun moved a little. He was motioning with his elbow. "The one where you step aside. I take the big gun off her pretty little head. And we continue on our way."

Coulson drew in a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, see, that's not - Let me just call in my negotiator; he-"

She was pretty sure the movement now was Ty shaking his head, seeing as the gun was already on hers, and it made Coulson stop mid-sentence. "Just... let this one go, man. It doesn't have to be this way..." he warned. The gun moved a little... he was adjusting his grip to actually shoot her!

Coulson calmly finished his thought. "- he's a little more... assertive..." He let his words trail off, as the sound of a sniper shot rang out across the parking lot. The gun fell away from her head, then clattered to the ground. His hand weakened, and he let go of her wrists. Then she heard the distinct sound of body slamming into asphalt.

Before she could move at all, the first agent's arm wrapped tightly around her neck - putting her right in Coulson's team's line of fire - and his own gun fired from his side. His hold on her was so tight that she could feel the recoil, too. Overestimated again. She was not about to try and struggle free. She hadn't even brought her knives to this gun fight.

Firing madly in all directions, the agent pulled her back with him, away from everything... towards the building. He kept her in in human-shield position the whole time. All of a sudden the baby kicked again, hard. And that was all it took to snap her out of her fear. She knew she couldn't get them both away from all this gunfire. But she'd thought of a way to make it stop.

She began with quiet groans, as if she were pain and trying to hide it. But they got louder, and she broke them up with little gasps. She folded both arms over her belly, and would have doubled over if not for its size, and the arm which was holding her up now. Then she went completely limp. As suspected, the expert one-handed shooter couldn't keep her up without affecting his accuracy, and he probably didn't want to strangle her either. Assuming she was sick and therefore no longer able to run, he let go. She slipped out of his hold, but didn't follow through with the act. Instead, she knelt down low to the ground. And before she could even place a hand on the pavement for balance, the sniper took the opportunity to take the agent out; one shot.

Immediately she ripped the bag off her head and looked around. As suspected, two _very_ dead Hydra agents were close by. There was quite a bit of blood and - um - matter, on her tunic, and all the exposed skin on her right side. Normally, she'd have been a bit disgusted by all that. But Coulson was now making quick strides her way with some armed backup. She scrambled to her feet and quickly made for the road.

As she ran, she thought of how best to make herself visible, quickly, to any and all traffic. But she didn't get far. A black SUV came out of nowhere, screeching to a stop directly in her path. The female driver had a stern, almost angry expression on her face. But she only watched as two more agents jumped out of the vehicle and closed in from either side. There was no way out. When she looked at the driver again, the corners of her lips began to curl just slightly, in a barely-discernible smile.

She backed away from the younger brunette woman who was on a careful approach from her right, and ran right into the athletically-built man in plain clothes whom she could have sworn was much further away from her left. She whipped around, and he took her arm. Kindly, he said "Come on, love. Let's get you home."

"Let go of me!" she screamed. "I'm not going with you!"

He ignored all her protests completely. He tolerated her fighting to get free - even when she hit him - and continued to quickly but gently pull her towards the SUV.

The driver remained unemotional. But when she spoke, she commanded everyone's attention: "Guys." She nodded towards the building. "Reinforcements. Time to go." Several Hydra agents burst from the building, one of them pointed directly at her, and the others immediately began to shoot at them... _all_ of them. Coulson's backup deftly returned fire as they retreated towards the apparently bullet-proof vehicle, and - with a sudden firm grip on the top of her head and shoulder - she was hastily shoved into the back seat. Coulson slammed into the front passenger seat, they all piled in, and sped out of the parking lot.

She didn't say a word to anyone the whole time she was confined to that vehicle. Coulson refused to even look at her. She was still in a bit of shock. When she could pull her mind together, though, she contemplated the best course of action from here. Since she'd left Asgard she'd been relocated two or three times. And it wasn't even daylight yet! But this would be the first instance in which she couldn't see where she was going - something that needed to be in her head for Loki to find her. As a former agent and Hydra target, they'd make sure of that. SHIELD was sure as shit not going to tell her even the slightest detail, so she wouldn't even bother to ask.

She wouldn't have been surprised to see that they had some sort of aircraft stashed in a freaking soybean field a few miles out of town. Wouldn't have, that is, if not for the fact that it was _invisible_. Cloaking technology. Wow. She let her eyes wander all over where she thought the plane should be, and even leaned forward in her seat to get a better view of the cargo bay door as it opened for them. It was an eerie sight. Like a door to another realm. It was the only thing visible, until they were on the ramp and inside. But displaying curiosity was the limit for how much she was willing to let her guard down. She went along silently as she was pulled from the vehicle and led to one of the seats - surrounded at all times, of course. She was 'a runner'. She cooperated reluctantly and kept her expressions neutral; brooding, observing everything. But inside, she was crying. She'd fucked up... bad. And this time she would pay for it with her freedom.

About an hour into the trip, once everyone was comfortably seated - except Coulson - her newest escort decided to try and talk to her. He'd been keeping an eye on her, she noticed, even as he moved around, fiddled with his phone and settled in an adjacent chair. Abruptly, he turned to face her with a puzzled expression. "You _do_ know we're not going to hurt you, right?"

She shifted her eyes slightly in his direction. Then continued to look at other things.

"Ah, the silent treatment." He leaned back, folded his arms and furrowed his brow. "I suppose I _was_ informed that you wouldn't want to come with us. That you were a bit skittish and such. But I just... for some reason I was expecting more than... this." He gestured towards her, with her tense posture and distant gaze. "Thought you might ask questions, understand what we did there, maybe show some kind of appreciation," he said dejectedly. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her sideways, as if listening for it. Then - with a falsetto mimicry of her higher-pitched voice - he said "'Thank you, Lance, for being such an excellent shot, and saving me from Hydra's evil plans'..."

Just then, she noticed that Coulson had returned from his business elsewhere on the plane, and was taking a seat of his own. She demanded his attention. "Coulson!"

The agent who'd referred to himself as Lance continued his explanation, unaffected by the outburst. "Perhaps a little kiss. You know, not out of love or anything, just gratitude. Happy to be alive and free of bullet holes..." Coulson ignored him too, and raised his head to listen, with his trademark concealing smile.

"You know damn well that this is a violation of my rights. You can't just take an unarmed, pregnant woman into custody, no matter what suspicions you have. You have to wait for me to become a _threat_."

Coulson eyed her intently and outright grinned. "It's good to see you too, Agent. But I'm afraid you signed those rights away when you joined SHIELD. We all did. You don't remember that from your contract?" She glared, as his blue eyes wandered away. "Nobody ever reads the contract."

Lance pursed his lips and tilted his head. "Maybe name your child after me..."

Coulson snapped back to attention. "Your rights became circumnavigable at the state of _potential_ threat. Also, we can relocate you just for your own safety. It's all in there. Air-tight. Written by some of the best lawyers money can buy."

She turned to Lance, interrupting his little musings. "You know, Lance, you're right. I _don't_ want to come with you." He stopped and raised an eyebrow, seemingly concerned. But she was so sick of running. She just... wanted to go back to Asgard, and Loki. To his protection. It was the closest she'd ever felt to being safe. Strangely, it was all she could think about. The outrage at SHIELD's level of ignorance, though, temporarily overpowered it. "I've been _captured_. I'm being held, and transported to an undisclosed location, against my will. And - as was the reason that I ran before - I can only assume I'll be imprisoned upon arrival, for some questionable reason or another." There was an edge of despair to her voice now. She couldn't keep it all in. "You're no different from Hydra." She looked around, making eye contact with everyone in defense of that statement. They looked to each other for the most part, and shared Lance's hapless expression... except for the young brunette in uniform, who seemed to be doing her best not to glare at Coulson directly. "What is it that you people want?"

"To protect the people," Coulson replied quickly. "Your safety, as well as the safety of this world, from you, and -"

"SO, Agent Iversen," the agent interrupted loudly. "I'm Skye, by the way. It's great to finally meet you."

Sara looked down and scoffed. "Uncanny similarities."

"Look, I know how scary Coulson can be when he SUSPECTS you're a traitor, at all." She emphasized the fact that the term was directed at him with a pause, then continued. "I hope you didn't kill the doctor. I mean, that's just one of the theories. The fact is, there are no facts - "

"I don't recall giving you clearance to access that case," Coulson pointed out curiously.

"Yeah, well... I did. Anyway, I know how you feel right now. You're in a situation where you _can't trust_ anyone." That statement got Sara's attention. She looked up at her, warily, and she responded with a sly smile. "I got the black bag treatment before I joined. Literally. Like, they put a black bag over my head."

"You're out-of-line, agent."

"And you're _wrong_ to hide the truth! You were wrong when you suspected me, and you were wrong to hide the truth _about me_ for so long, too." She was actually raising her voice at him a little. This issue, between them, was quite personal. But a venomous stare from Coulson made her lower it again. "If you want to do the same thing to her, that's really none of my business..."

"I'm glad to hear you admit that _something_ is."

"...but I don't see how it's necessary to scare a non-combative, pregnant woman _speechless_." She glanced at Sara again, who looked down quickly. That wasn't why she was speechless. She was scared, yes, but she'd buried that so deep that even the people who'd trained her wouldn't be able to see it. What she was still having trouble with was exhaustion. She was tired, and hungry, and extremely dehydrated. In this state, she really couldn't trust herself to argue or negotiate well. She slouched forward and wrapped her arms around her belly. No point in hiding it, really.

Lance chimed in. "Ahm... 'Non-combative' is not how I would describe our guest thus far." He had a couple of good-sized bruises from her resistance in the parking lot.

Skye ignored him. "She has a _moral_ right to know what we're doing here."

Coulson's eyes shifted to Sara again, and he proceeded to stare her down, analyzing every bit of revealing behavior, reaction, and expressions - a frustrating habit of his, if she had to choose just one. "That's classified," he said coldly. "And Agent Iversen already knows the protocol." With the finality of those statements effectively ending the argument, he reinforced his authority. "Skye I'd like to speak with you privately please." She shot Sara a look of burning curiosity. She probably doesn't know, either, Sara guessed. And when Coulson used the term 'classified', that was usually the end of all questions. Skye followed him to another section of the aircraft.

Several minutes of awkward silence ensued. Eventually, she felt comfortable enough to get up and move to a window, feeling restless, knowing she was being watched the whole time. The only reason she hadn't been locked up yet was because she wasn't exactly dangerous... though, Coulson sure looked at her as if she were. She stared out the window and into the dark. How metaphorically appropriate, she thought. But she did always like to fly.

She enjoyed her self-centering trance for a while, until she heard someone approaching from the other side of the room. She refused to acknowledge them. It turned out to be Coulson. "Agent Iversen. I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the windows please."

She struggled to keep her thoughts to herself. Really? I'm a hostage, carrying an 084, and his concern right now is that I can figure out, from the air, where his secret clubhouse is? It was dark. She could only just now make out little clusters of light from the cities... and then, the disturbing absence thereof, as they began their slow descent for a landing. She disregarded his request and continued to look desperately for signs of civilization. Then there was a hand on her shoulder.

"He's the boss, love. Best do as he says." Coulson studied her reaction to being forcibly relocated to a smaller sleeping area with no windows. She gave him none.

When she stepped off the plane, there was nothing to see but the inside of a huge hangar, with all the typical repair and maintenance stuff. No way to tell where they were. And, predictably, the room that Lance led her to had no windows. There was only a metal table and chairs. But, at least they were on the first floor this time, she thought. Much easier to escape, if that pressing need recurs. It was a large, open room, its interior walls composed of that unbreakable glass SHIELD was so fond of. But there were guards in the doorway, and strategically placed throughout. And it still managed to be dimly-lit. Without a word, she sat down. Loki will still find me, she convinced herself. She would cooperate for as long as they treated her well.

While she waited for the inevitable interrogator, she stayed calm, and used all her senses to the fullest, to grasp at any hint of her location. There was only the faint smell of chemicals. The occasional sound of people in the tiled hallway. The ambient temperature throughout the facility, though, suggested that they were somewhere in the south. SHIELD had a budget just like any other bureaucracy. In the blistering heat of a summer in the south, it wasn't going to be excessively cool. After only a few minutes, she was surprised to see that her foe was, once again, Coulson himself. Her attention was immediately drawn to what was in his hand. A very large mug. Well ain't I just special, she thought sarcastically to herself. If it weren't for the man's love of coffee, I probably wouldn't have had to wait for him at all.

He sat down, put the mug on the table, and scooted it across to her. She shifted away a little, and eyed him suspiciously. He smiled slightly. Coulson poker face. So she took the mug and sniffed it... and instantly hid her reaction to the contents. It was apple cider. Leave it to Coulson to make her feel uneasy with nothing but a beverage.

Its purpose now known, she eagerly consumed it; a lot of it. It was ice-cold, delicious and refreshing. The timing almost made her think that his intentions were good. Almost. She raised the mug to him, and decided to play this game. Softy, she said "Thank you."


	21. GR 4372

Coulson was fairly certain that it was a genuine expression of gratitude. But, just to clarify: "I heard it was your favorite in Asgard." Honest and direct. Despite the expected impudent accusations from Skye, he wasn't _trying_ to scare this one. From their limited encounters regarding her research, and her psychiatric evaluations - both open and confidential - he knew her just well enough to say that she wasn't afraid. 4372 had on record a specific set of fears, and none of them applied well enough to the current environment. "As much as you don't want to believe it, you're not a prisoner here."

The thirty-dollar cider had put no dents in her armor. "My treatment up until now would suggest otherwise."

She was playing dumb. Seeing how much he'd offer for explanation. He crossed his arms over his chest. "When we're dealing with an 084, our first priority is always the public's safety. The 'needs of the many', if you will. I'm surprised you didn't know that. You held a position here where you helped to _implement_ that policy."

She used her thirst as an excuse to back out of the topic, casually picking up the mug. By the time she put it down, she'd adopted a suspiciously congenial attitude. She leaned forward, folded her arms on the table and locked her eyes onto his. Perhaps the act would have been more convincing without all the Hydra agents' blood on her shoulder. "You guys sure did put a lot of effort into finding me," she said pointedly.

He gave a little sideways nod. "Well, you didn't make it easy, having somehow removed the tracker that was built in to your heart modifications." Her eyes flashed surprise, but she looked away quickly. Even turned her head, eyeing the guards through the glass. He squinted at her, and asked - with only modest curiosity - a question which had plagued SHIELD for five months. "How _did_ you do that, by the way?"

She took another long sip; stalling for time. What came out of her mouth next would probably be a very convincing lie. He let the disarming smile fade a little, though, as he realized that she had no intention of answering him at all.

Ungrateful. It wasn't something he was unused to - SHIELD didn't get a lot of 'thank you' notes. But agents had risked their lives this time. And that bugged him. "Speaking of which, I believe this is the _second_ time we've saved your life."

She moved the mug away from her lips just enough to speak. She was attempting to hide the many facets of emotion that she hadn't already let him see. Except for some mild agitation. "Why am I here, Coulson?"

He evaded the question for now. "We know the reason why you ran." The fierce, business-like expression that he knew was his default required some effort to change, but he spoke with great sincerity. "We really _were_ just trying to help you. We still are. And now we're even more concerned..." He delicately hinted at his meaning with a glance in the direction of her belly. He hadn't failed to notice that she'd said nothing about Loki so far, though she knew they'd figured out he was the father. That meant that she was actively protecting his interests, and wouldn't react well to any suggestion that doing so was wrong. However he'd done it this time, their level-seven agent had been deluded into some sort of deranged affection for him. He could _see it_ in her bright, green eyes. Such a shame.

He straightened his posture, went back over the plan in his head, and prepared for the worst. She wasn't going to like this part. "Now there are a couple of options for how we proceed from here..."

"Oh, so I _do_ have choices," she interrupted with mock surprise. "Do any of them involve you letting me go, and leaving me the hell alone?"

Patiently, he nodded. "The first option does give you the freedom to leave. Once you've been cleared by our psych team."

She stared at him with a new, searing hatred, for a good long while. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder. "The second option is we just keep you and your child here with us indefinitely." He gazed downward in thought. "Now that option actually _benefits_ us." - then right back to full eye-contact. "You carry the offspring of the single greatest threat that the world has ever known. I can't think of any better way to gain leverage in negotiations with Asgard... should their new ruler decide to make a move against the Earth." He smiled, and added, "My colleagues are kind of paranoid about that."

That touched on one of her fears. Her eyes lost all focus. She froze in the middle of lifting the mug again, with both her small hands - which were trembling, almost imperceptibly.

He put his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. He glanced at her hands with concern, but waited silently. And she did make him wait. That was something he remembered from the coworker reports. Silence meant she was working on concealing things. But not completely this time.

Able to accurately perceive the level of threat -  and not unarmed in case he wasn't - he simply watched as she put the mug down, and stood up. She turned and took a step towards the glass, both arms over her belly. A manifestation of her constant state of insecurity. She stood there for a minute, then turned back. Her eyes were still cast downward, lost in thought. Then she looked at the table. Swiftly, she slapped both hands onto it and leaned over, getting uncomfortably close to his face. Only then did she lift her eyes again, to give him what he hoped wasn't an _intentionally_ -threatening look. Her voice lowering, she said, "You need to tell me _why_."

He leaned back away from her and frowned, absorbing the audacity of that demand... and her menacing tone. He decided that in order to convey the necessity - and finality - of the imposed plan, he would need to up the intimidation a little. He rose from his own chair slowly - slightly taller than her - and straightened his jacket. Then he leveled his gaze at her, and made sure his words were crystal clear. "Because you are a threat."

Her infuriated expression melted into confusion as she drew herself back into a standing position. "What." She shook her head. "Howthefuck am I a threat?"

Still slightly annoyed, he compensated by adding extra enthusiasm to his elaborations. "You were never briefed on all the details... but, Skye's right. At this point you should know the truth." It was time to gain 4372's cooperation. Which required her to fully understand the problem. Which required the release of classified intel. To the last person they would ever want to give it to.

He put his hands in his pockets, looked down when he needed to and slowly paced the floor, masking his own apprehensions. "Back then, to save you, we tapped _a lot_ of resources. Called in a lot of favors. You were very close to _irretrievably_ dead." He buried the familiar pain that sparked up again as he remembered his own unholy resurrection. She was studying him, seeing past his words, with close to the same level of talent that he had for it. "And in the process, we discovered something strange..." he paused a moment to look at her more directly. "...you did read the information that you stole, correct? That's why you needed the laptop."

Unaffected by the accusation - and all the ones that came with it - she only showed interest in what it was they'd found. "All my file says is 'GR 4372'."

"That's because the details, up until now, has been classified. You _are_ on the Gifted Registry. In fact, you possess the same genetic markers as some of the most powerful gifteds on Earth. But for some reason... you haven't expressed it yet." She followed his every move, and was hanging on every word he said now. "We have our theories regarding that. Meanwhile, we've... encouraged you, in various ways, to stay close. Monitored your outside-of-work activities." He shrugged slightly. "All we could really do was watch, and wait for it to show up. So, to answer your questions more concisely: we know you better than you know yourself. Under that tough, overcautious exterior, you're volatile. And, over time, you've shown all the subtle characteristics of a developing sociopath. A villain, even... depending on what sort of power you might possess."

"But it... that's not right! They must have gotten the profiles mixed up. Or someone... that can't be me."

He stopped and turned to her, smiling, amused by the blatant denial. "And why not? You have a _classic_ villain's motive." Her sudden stillness was unnerving. He used his left hand to gesture towards her... leaving his right with quick access to the contents of his pocket. "You suffer a grave injustice. Become cold, and bitter. And blame the world for being what it is." She neither confirmed nor denied. She was still reeling from it all; matching the proposed extremes with what she knew of reality. He dropped the hand. "I hope our psyche team is wrong. We've done everything in our power to help you overcome your past. But there's always that possibility, that you may change into something... _very_ different."

She broke eye contact, looking down as she took her seat again. Then she smiled, and scoffed. "My past. I'm _over it_ , Coulson."

"Is that right." His tone changed back to one of mock kindness. "You know, I just remembered something... some _one_ you haven't seen in a while. The man who broke your heart. We should bring him in. Give you two some alone time. Might even be able to get him released."

For just a second her eyes went wide. She worked it gracefully into the expression of disbelief. But then she began to tremble. That was something she couldn't control; one of the few things he'd even seen himself. She stared at him intently, as if not willing to dignify his suggestion with a response, but that only made it easier for him to see what was really going on. It wasn't fear - as she'd managed to convince anyone who hadn't read her file that it was. No; it was _anger_. A self-righteous, intelligence-backed fury which, given the opportunity of power, would fuel actions of such complexity and magnitude... he halted that train of thought. He was getting lost in the others' speculations and conjecture again. There was no evidence that the power would ever manifest at all. This was all just a very necessary precaution. But his mind wandered. If it did... with her mental strength and damage... SHIELD simply did not have the resources right now, to fight that.

She was still shaking, focusing hard on trying to stop it, as he approached the table again. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "But this is what we're talking about. This is why it's in everyone's best interest for SHIELD to keep an eye on you."

"I have it _under control_." She refocused, and glared daggers at him. "And if your psyche people try to convince me otherwise, I will make you rue the day you scraped me off the pavement. You're _wrong_. And I've escaped you backstabbing bastards before. Give me a reason to, and I can do it again."

He pressed his lips together, keeping his own personal opinions on the matter to himself. 4372 couldn't even admit that she might be a greater threat than that. And the incessant combativeness was officially getting on his nerves. "I don't take kindly to threats, Agent. But, I suppose you _have_ been through a lot. Maybe you just need to relax for a while." He scooped everything off the table. "We'll speak again once you're feeling better."

He moved to leave the room, pausing to whisper to the posted agents as he passed. "Put her in a large cell and assign constant surveillance from the _outside_ , until I say otherwise." The agents moved in immediately.

The chair made a horrible screeching sound as it was launched back across the floor, in her violent attempts to avoid being touched.

He turned just in time to see her fearfully backing away from them. He struggled to remember her name. "Sara." That was it. It got her attention. "Go with them peacefully, please. You'll be taken to a nice, furnished room, where you can clean yourself up." She stopped and followed his eyes to the blood which covered the entire right side of her body, now dried. Had to be uncomfortable. Itchy. He forced out a calming tone. "Eat something. Have some more cider, if you like. We won't mistreat you, no matter how long you make us keep you here." He smiled. "We're the good guys, remember?"

One of the armed agents' attention was divided more evenly between Coulson and 4372 as he spoke. The way he held his gun suggested he wasn't much of a combat expert, like the other one. Ironically, he was probably here to do 4372's old job: defend, observe, and use his studies of the supernatural to solve any special threats that came up during interrogation. He reinforced Coulson's point by offering her a hand instead, successfully extracting her from her corner... once the other one lowered his weapon.

He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something here. Something big. Why. Why was she so reluctant to be relocated? Wait. She was actually _protecting_ Loki, right? That had been pretty well-confirmed. Maybe she hadn't come back to escape him. For whatever misguided reason, he was king of Asgard now. He could navigate between worlds as he pleased. She knew that. Was... was he was coming to take her back? His mind raced through all of that particularly powerful villain's known and speculated abilities. Before, he'd found someone close to the Tesseract to control; Erik Selvig. He could probably find her now... whether she came here to hide from him or not. That would mean that 4372 wasn't just a danger... she was a beacon for danger, in their unwitting possession. He'd have to bring up the option of releasing her, he realized, as he rushed down the hall towards his office.

Coulson wasn't lying, Sara was surprised to find, once she was left alone in the - um - cell? Room? It was more like a hotel room, really. A hotel made primarily of metal and stone, with lots and lots of cameras.

For the first time in a long time, she relaxed a little. She probably wouldn't be here for long... she kept telling herself that. In the meantime, all she had to do was cooperate - and completely ignore the fact that she wasn't free to leave - to be comfortable.

Just like the interrogation room, the interior wall was transparent. But it wasn't glass. It was a freaking force field. It had made itself apparent by making a slight electrical buzz upon being activated. Remembering AsJail, she didn't try to touch it. There was one small, high window to the outside as well. The first thing she did was stand on the bed so she could see out of it better. Couldn't see much. It was still dark outside.

She sighed, and climbed back down to investigate the rest of her de-facto prison. She was relieved to find that the bathroom/shower area was walled off with actual wall. Then she heard voices in the hall.

She crept back to the force field, and peered around the hallway from the corner. An armed agent was posted just outside, against the real wall part. She nodded curtly in response to whatever message the agent Lance had brought, and pulled a device from her pocket. Lance glanced her way with a slight grin, and suddenly there was a grid, then opaque white squares between them. She couldn't see or hear them anymore. She stepped back, startled. Fucking SHIELD.

Pensively, she perched on the edge of the single chair. There was no clock, no sound, and the room was dimly lit. She found herself struggling to stay awake, after what seemed like several hours. She looked back at the window. Still dark, so probably not that long. But how long was Coulson planning to keep her in here? She went to the wall and tentatively touched it with one finger. It rippled, but didn't hurt. She went to the corner again and knocked on the end of the real wall which intersected it. No response. So she banged on it, hard enough to cause the field to ripple from the vibrations. Still nothing. She sat some more, then she paced for a while, waiting. Finally, she looked at the nearest camera, and raised her arms at it expectantly. She yelled at it. "What the hell, Coulson?"

She knew damn well that they were watching her. After some thought, she decided she would _show_ them that she was calm. There _was_ a constant, burning desire - beneath all the fear and anger - to get the disgusting combination of sweat and dried blood off of her. So she headed for the shower. There were cameras in there, too. But at this point, she didn't care much who saw her naked. She could fight naked just as well as clothed. Better even, she laughed to herself. There wasn't much that her opponent would be willing and able to grab onto.

It. Felt. Soooo good, to take as long as she needed to get clean. What else did she have to do. She was probably staying the night. It was a little warm in the cell, too, so she scrubbed down with lukewarm water, and flung the door open all the way to vent the room while she washed her tunic and pants in the sink, struggling to accomplish all that while keeping her belly covered by the towel. Modesty was a hard-to-break habit. She hung the wet clothes on the back of the chair to dry and, ignoring the creepy hospital garb they'd left for her on the table, dropped her towel on the floor just before crawling into the bed. Resting was necessary. And SHIELD wouldn't hurt her, she thought, to placate her mind while her stressed and aching body relaxed. And she wouldn't be here for long.

Not surprisingly, actual sleep was elusive. Though, not for the reasons she would've thought. She kept waking up too warm. She was so exhausted that she fell back asleep a couple of times, before she could do anything about it. But the first time she woke up a bit sticky as well, she flung off the sheets and got up. She opted instead to cover herself with the thin, grey cotton garb they'd provided. The shirt was oversized, even with her big belly - a disturbing indication that they were prepared to keep her here throughout the pregnancy... or for however long she survived it without Loki. But it was long enough that she didn't feel the need to bother with the pants. She went back to bed otherwise coverless.

Then she woke up so sweaty, that it was beginning to seep through the fabric. She sat up, and tried to think of another remedy. She ended up laying down a sheet and making camp on the cold, stone floor. Not a big deal for her, if it worked. And thankfully it worked quite well. She'd gladly sacrifice her own comfort for the baby's, she thought, as she tried to get comfortable on the covered-but-still-hard-surface. She curled up on her side, lightly hugging her belly, and drifted off again, as the apparently east-facing window began to glow a lighter shade of blue. The sun was finally beginning to think about gracing her world with its presence.

Loki woke early, in the king's opulent chambers... a fact which always put a big smile on his face. The sweet smell of success was that of fine leather, herbs, incense, and whatever delectable morsels were awaiting his royal critique in the feasting hall. He rose from the bed to survey his kingdom from the balcony. He'd replenished all his strength and energy, and even managed to get some mundane sleep during the night.

First, he must fetch his queen. She tended to express varying amounts of displeasure when he failed to bring her with him to breakfast. He dressed, traversed the hall down to where she insisted on sleeping, and tapped on the door. "My Queen," he announced in his low waking voice... and excessively proper form. This bothered her as well. But she must get used to it, he thought, as he grinned in anticipation of this morning's reaction to his presence.

There was no response. He tapped again, and a chiding tone slipped into his words. "Sara. You must hear me, pet. I know you not as ever a heavy sleeper." He waited several minutes, and pondered what the goals of this new game of hers were. Then, recalling the exact words of their agreement, he focused in and searched for her mind. It wasn't in that room. He effortlessly manipulated the lock and opened the door. Everything was in place. It was as if she'd already awakened and left of her own will... but he couldn't sense her anywhere nearby. He turned, and closed his eyes. He searched the entire Hall of Asgard for her in a matter of minutes, as he was so accustomed to having to do. But this time, her wandering spirit had taken her past these walls. So he expanded the search. This was more difficult, requiring more concentration the less familiar he was with the areas, and the further out he went.

He was so focused on the task that he didn't notice the guard that was approaching. "Your Majesty..." He opened his eyes right on him, unintentionally making him nervous. "...forgive the interruption. Is all well with you and the queen?" He must have displayed, by accident, the concern he was beginning to feel.

"I believe so..." he said impatiently. "Have you seen your queen this morning?"

"No, My Liege."

Even on her fastest horse, the time it would have taken her to travel past the areas that he'd just searched, was several hours. Several hours ago... he was not yet resting. He slammed the end of Gungnir into the floor with a crack that reverberated through the halls, and such force that it broke the stone. "Notify the king's guard," he commanded. "Your queen has been taken in the night." The guard's eyes widened, and he executed his direct order with great speed. Someone would pay for this, Loki fumed, as the guard ran out of sight. This time he would have vengeance, reputation be damned. The only sound to quiet this rage would be that of her captors' agony, crushed under the weight of their darkest fears, and his most inventive tortures.


	22. A State Beyond Rage

Loki had planned to put everything into searching both Asgard and Midgard for his queen, in order to find her quickly. If her mind was somehow suppressed - as it had been last time - she could be anywhere, in any sort of danger, he'd obsessively, angrily thought. Though he was confident he'd prepared her well enough to fight an _attacker_ , she wasn't the only one so distraught by the citizens' ability to find ways to take her from him _without_ the use of violence.

He'd planned to find her this way, using all of his energies, even to the point of unconsciousness before giving up. He was, in all likelihood, her only hope of return. But on the way to his chambers he realized something. No matter what realm she was in, he had at his disposal someone whose knowledge extended to them all. He turned and headed down another hall towards the stables to obtain a horse for the trip across the bridge, cursing himself the entire way for not considering it sooner.

He went directly to Hvellur, the servants parting and bowing before him as he did. But the queen's fastest was only fastest under the small Midgardian's weight. The fastest for all else was Sorti, he remembered. Before moving on, he apologetically ran his long fingers across Hvellur's face. But then he sensed something unexpected. A fresh memory of her scent, and a very faint sense of human-level fear... fear and desperation. For him to be able to feel that _at all_ , from hours ago, through the steed, it had to have been _incredibly_ strong in her. She... had run from him.

A familiar combination of rage and sadness ignited in his heart and burned its way through his entire body. He snapped his hand away and closed his eyes for a moment. Her infuriating disregard for the bargain was not Hvellur's fault. Hvellur tossed his head at him rather indignantly as he mounted Sorti, and left.

Together they made haste to the edge of the city, and practically negated the vast length of the bridge. Loki stayed low and worked with Sorti perfectly, so that they might fly.

At the end, he commanded him to wait, in case she were somehow still in Asgard. He marched directly into Heimdall's line of sight; having no desire to waste more time. "Wise Heimdall," he announced. "I must ask you to search for your queen."

Heimdall continued to stare ahead. "There is no need My King. I have dedicated my sight to her before all else."

"Where is she?"

His eyes fell slightly before the last word. "I'm afraid I cannot say."

Loki's pure, unrestrained fear for her life overcame the anger, and increased tenfold. "You cannot see her?"

"If that were the case, I would have notified you immediately."

He felt the fury making its attempt to resurface. Nothing and no one in the nine realms would keep him from her! He made no attempt to conceal his displeasure. "Then you will _tell me_ where she is. Your king commands it."

Heimdall hesitated, his voice tinged with sorrow. "As before, My King - I cannot say."

His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on Gungnir. "Why not?" he hissed.

"This I also cannot say."

The rage took him over. He wasn't even entirely aware of his actions until the mighty spear was at Heimdall's throat. "You will obey my orders, or I will flay you where you stand!"

The only part of Heimdall which moved was his eyes. But they were on him instantly. "To threaten me is to threaten the safety of Asgard. I would sooner fall upon my own sword than allow a single one of its citizens to come to harm. Such is my loyalty, to Asgard's king and its queen."

He lowered the spear. His words were vaguely indicative of the true motivation behind his reticence. She had given him orders, to conceal herself. Why?

"Who _can_ tell me?" he demanded.

Heimdall's eyes shifted. He was searching his memories for an answer. He _wanted_ to disobey her; to tell him where she was. But that was not what he did. "None, My King."

She knew that she couldn't return without him. Had he frightened her so deeply that she'd no intent to return at all? And what of his child? He would simply have to search for them himself. He left without a word.

As he raced back with Sorti, he resolved to do nothing else until his heir was here, safe, with him... whether the mortal wanted this or not. In the end, they both needed him to survive.

Brightly-glowing eyelids woke Sara up again. Instinctively she opened them, only to be blinded by a beam of sunlight, of course. The narrow rectangle of light that the sun cast through the window had seen fit to bathe only her head in its searing heat. She was sweaty again... very sweaty. Her hair was soaked, and so was her shirt, so much that it clung uncomfortably to her body as she worked to sit up. Her back ached worse than it had in years. She got to her feet despite the added difficulty, and fled from the sun's assault.

Immediately her belly reminded her that she wasn't the only one who was uncomfortable. She was dripping sweat from everywhere. A litany of expletives ran through her mind, but only a few came out, as she tried instead to focus on what to do.

She needed to get out of the cell. The temperature would only rise as the sun did. She went to the force field and banged on the wall again. "Guys, I need..." she stopped herself from saying too much in front of any lower-level - or potentially _Hydra_ \- agents on the other side. Best case, Coulson wouldn't appreciate the information leak. Worst, she'd find herself incapacitated at 'Base Thirty-one'. "...I need to speak to Coulson." While she waited for a response, she checked the walls again for any sort of control over the strange technology. She needed to see if anyone was even out there still. Nothing.

This place has cold water, she remembered. A rare feature in the south - usually cool-ish water was all that a faucet made. But she remembered the shower being almost ice cold, for a second, last night. She gave up on the wall for now and headed back to the washroom.

The water didn't seem as cold this time, but it still felt good, especially on her head. For about thirty minutes she just stood there under it. She decided that she was as cool as she was going to get. She stepped out and dried off... a pointless endeavor, since her choices for clothing were either sweaty shirt or wet tunic. She opted for the tunic. But only a few minutes later she was hot again. And getting very sick of being ignored. She stood in front of the camera, and glared up at it for several minutes. Coulson had said he wanted her to be comfortable. Well, she wasn't! She banged angrily on the wall now, yelling "hello", "hey" and "excuse me", at people she couldn't even see.

Only a few hits in, each of her arms began to ache like she'd been at it for an hour. She dropped them, and stepped away. She stumbled a little. She felt weak, and dizzy. Something else was going on here.

Her bare feet didn't even register the floor as cold anymore as she padded all around the room, locating each vent, and checking for a change in air flow or temperature near them. Nothing. If they were gassing her, it was with a small amount of impossibly strong stuff, for her to feel anything. That didn't make sense.

Her long hair clung to her back, still quite wet from the shower. It kept sending little droplets of water down the sides of her face. She hadn't put a lot of effort into drying it. She wiped one away from her eye and pondered for a moment. She needed to be smart about this, for the sake of the baby. And not freak out. It was actually a much better use of heat-causing movement to try and get cool, than to get their attention. Someone was watching. Someone would figure it out, and come. She'd go ahead and tell them everything, she decided. She'd rather risk having to give birth in a Hydra horror hospital than anything happening to the baby as a result of her overheating. Another drop rolled down past her silvery eyebrows and into her eye, where it stung. More sweat! She was beginning to think that the latter was a real possibility.

She combed her hair, twisted it up onto her head and pinned it there - after a couple of tries - with the SHIELD standard-issued black plastic comb. Getting it off her neck seemed to help. Then she sat directly on the floor cross-legged, and stilled herself, body and mind. It isn't really that hot in here, she reminded herself. The baby would be fine. She just couldn't let all the jotun biological warfare freak her out. She'd sit, and wait for someone to come. Someone would come. She wasn't actually feeling cramps, either. It was her nerves. Except, it wasn't. The pain in her belly was getting worse, little by little, and that _did_ freak her out.

Slowly she stood up... very hot, and very dizzy. She stumbled towards the wall, actually stumbling _into_ it a bit, but she was glad for the loud thunk and the ripples her palm made with all her weight behind it. More noise. She needed to make more noise, before she _couldn't_ anymore. She stood upright again, but her legs were getting weak. Standing was not a priority. So she sat on the floor again, propping herself up against the wall. She lowered her head to stop the room from spinning, an angle which caused the comb to fall out. But she let her wet hair fall around her face. It blocked out the room from her vision almost completely, making it easier to stay focused. She brought both arms forward, made fists, and slammed them into the wall behind her, as hard as she could. But after only a few of those, her wrists started to bleed again. She reassigned them to the floor to keep her upright instead, while she waited.

They were ignoring her. They had to be. The only other thing she could think of to do was to try to defeat whatever sound barrier this thing had. She had to get their attention! She yelled as loud as she could. First for Coulson. Then Lance. Skye. Then, just a desperate, pleading "Help".

That was it. That was all she could do. She could no longer spare the breath to yell. She wasn't even sure how much time had actually passed. But the heat... she was burning up, bad. She was melting like a candle, curling in on herself from the exhaustion and the pain. Her legs stuck straight out to accommodate her belly, and both her hands were on it too. And, for the very first time, she felt she needed to say something to Loki's unborn child. "I'm sorry," she squeaked, as she fought back hopeless tears.

She was so stupid! She didn't think... Her eyes overflowed, not so much from the pain, but because her baby was in danger, and there was nothing she could do about it! She could barely even keep upright now, constantly having to catch herself listing one way or the other. Then she swayed just a little too far to the right, her arm gave out, and she fell over onto the floor.

The agents appeared so quickly that they scared her, suddenly crouching and kneeling all around... touching her. They lifted each wrist, then put light pressure on her neck. They were looking for her pulse. She shut her eyes to keep calm. "Sara! No, don't close your eyes Sara. Stay with me; stay awake." The agent's voice was loud and forceful enough to make her want to obey its orders. She cringed, in fear and pain, as multiple sets of hands moved her carefully away from the wall and onto her back, flat, on the stupid floor. She longed to feel its coolness on her skin again, but it wasn't there for her this time. There were multiple voices, all urgently saying things she couldn't understand, as she fought to stay awake. The man gently pulling locks of hair off her sticky face to put his palm there brought her back to attention, just long enough to make out a woman's voice from further away. "She's bleeding, too."

 _No_. Even through her shifting consciousness, she knew that the woman wasn't talking about her wrists. She began to sob, quietly, with very little breath behind it. "No..." she begged, of some unknown higher power. "Please... please don't take my baby."

"No one's going to take your baby," an agent reassured her. What she thought was the third, or maybe fourth agent's face was suddenly very close to hers. "Sara do you know what's going on right now?"

"The baby..." her sobs stole her breath, but she forced out the rest. "...can't... heat. Needs to be cool..."

An agent she couldn't see before jumped to his feet. She flinched at his sudden, loud voice. "Of course!" He put a hand on his head for a moment and debated with himself, but recovered quickly. It was the one from the interrogation room; the one who'd taken her hand. "Go ahead and move her. Get her to the med ward." He put a few fingers to his ear. "Coulson, we _need_ to tell them. Permission to declassify." A pause. Then suddenly she was lifted up. "Everything. Med team only." She hadn't even felt them do it. But she cried out as it caused another cramp. "We'll be there in five."

The woman yelled so loudly that her voice cracked. "SARA." She opened her eyes again.

Coulson's voice. "What? Why?"

"It's not just half Loki's, it's half _frost giant_. It was only a little warm in the cell, but it... seems to be some advanced form of heat stroke."

"Put her out right now!"

"Sir, she might have a concussion..."

"Listen to me. _That's_ GR 4372. Unknown. With a _brand new heart_. Priorities, Doctor. That's an order."

Before he'd even finished the argument, she felt a sting in her arm. She gasped, alarmed, and used the last of her energy to pull away a few inches. But it was too late. She just... stopped caring. About being forced to trust SHIELD again... fear... excruciating abdominal pain. "Sir, we d - " the words were too garbled to make out. "she - " the lights... too bright; she closed her eyes. She tried to come back to the voices; needed to know what they were saying... but she was pulled in. Into the terrifying, suffocating darkness.

A knock on the door to his darkened chambers shook Loki's concentration free of his task, and the anger began to boil over inside him once again. He considered releasing some of it on the insolent fool who dared disturb him now. But he needed it. Though he'd never disclosed it to another before Sara, he'd already made peace with the fact that his rage was what lent such extraordinary power to his will.

The guard seemed to have sensed this. He spoke through the door. "My Liege, I apologize for disturbing you. Heimdall requests your presence."

He opened the door with such speed that the guard's eyes flashed with fear before him. Loki pushed past the petrified oss and made for the Bifrost postehaste.

This time he sent Sorti back to the stables. If Heimdall's intent was to do anything other than disclose Sara's location, he would simply go to Midgard and search for her there, where it was the easiest to do so... without regard for the threats to his freedom and safety.

Heimdall turned to him as soon as his feet touched the golden floor. "Your Majesty. I regret that I could not break my oath of loyalty to my queen before. The reason I have called you here is that, as of now, I _must_." Loki parted his lips to speak, but Heimdall's tone sounded urgent. He put out his hand and bowed his head slightly in a supplicating gesture. Heimdall's intense eyes returned to him as he did. "My duty before all else is to protect the citizens of Asgard. I must inform you when any Asgardian's life is in danger. This supersedes all other orders..." His gaze shifted back into space and his voice softened slightly. "I see one now, My King. It is your child."

For the first time in centuries, Loki panicked. He knew what that meant, he feared for his child, and he didn't hesitate. Eyes wide, he gave the order. "Tell me precisely where she is, and send me there, now."

Suddenly, Sara could see. Well, sort-of. Bright, blurry figures were all around. None moving. She could hear no voices; only the beeping and whirring of various machines. She was on a padded surface. Her eyes burned, as if she hadn't slept for days. Or maybe it was the sweat. She wanted to rub her eyes clear of whatever it was, but found that she couldn't move her arm.

Instantly her whole body jerked hard to sit up, and failed. She began to panic. She was being held down.

"Coulson!" she yelled. At that, there was the distinct sound of large guns being raised and aimed, by people with lots of armor on and no reason to be stealthy. Several of them, all around her! She blinked hard, desperately needing to see what was going on. As her vision cleared, she noticed that there was, in fact, no more sweat. She was indeed strapped to a damn bed again, though propped up slightly, so she could see the room at least. The guns were in the hands of several agents, all expressionless. But she studied their faces closely. A few of the female agents were having trouble making eye contact from behind their guns. Their shared expressions were the best indicator of what was going on. Sadness? Pity? She released the nearest one from the intensity of her stare to scan them all again, angrily. "What is this? Why am I _fucking_ restrained, and how the fuck do you expect me to do anything that might require you to shoot me with _five guns_? Come on!" She was furious, panicky, and scared. She had to remind herself that the last thing she wanted to do - since her debate with Coulson - was to appear unstable, and prove him right.

When they didn't respond, she pulled on the restraints again, looking at her hands as if trying to burn through the straps with her eyes. When she looked at her feet though, she gasped. Her belly was gone. Her baby was gone! She began to tremble, and her voice and expression both softened as she implored the room for answers. "Where is my baby? It's _too soon_..." They were all just watching her, carefully. The panic took over. "It's too soon! What did you do to her? _No..._ "

The guns stayed trained on her, even as a woman in a white coat pushed between two of them. She walked right up to her side. The eyes of the agent she'd shoved aside the most were full of concern. "Doctor..."

"You are _under orders_ not to speak of your concerns, Agent," she snapped, in a small and sweet-sounding voice. She gazed at Sara and thought for a moment, then put her hand on the strap that restrained hers... but not to loosen it. She spread her whole hand over hers from there, lightly, soothingly. Sara, in anticipation, began to cry, still shaking, and the tears increased the longer she waited for her to speak. The doctor looked into her eyes. "Sorry about them. It's just a precaution, Coulson's orders." She took a deep breath. "You went into early labor. We did everything we could to keep it from happening, but... but the baby didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Her heart stopped beating, and her blood ran cold. The words seeped into her mind slowly, and the fact that her baby was... gone... she couldn't control her mind; couldn't think at all. There was only the anger. A raw, careless rage, the likes of which she'd neither felt nor heard described by anyone. She wasn't breathing either, she realized, as the fire in her stomach and chest reached her lungs. 'Priorities, Doctor.' Coulson's words repeated in her head, fueling it. It was unstoppable. She tried to rip her hand away. But the doctor squeezed it gently, and gave her a sad smile.

Sara cried out loud, and the shaking became so violent that - between that and her sobs - she could barely breathe anymore. The doctor spoke to her softly, eyes darting around to all the agents. "Please... Sara... you _have to_ stay calm."

The word, almost silent, slipped out if its own accord. "You."

The doctor leaned in again. "What, sweetie?"

"You... _killed_..." she sobbed.

The doctor took a step back and put her hands up. Her eyes begged for her trust. "No, nonono. Sara, we didn't..." But her words were cut off by a long, shrill and anguished scream. Sara realized it was coming from her own burning throat, and stopped it with a gasp, but inside her head it remained. The feeling was unbearable. It was flooding her mind, burning her alive, the pain... too much... she was finally dead, and in Hel, like she was supposed to be all along. No... _they_ 'd brought her back. Kept her from her fate. Manipulated her. Ignored her pleas, and...

Something in her snapped. The tears kept coming. But it was as if her brain had blown a fuse. The overwhelming sense of despair shut down, abruptly, and in its absence was a strange, dark, empty serenity. She could think again. Actually, it was all she _could_ do. Her eyes wouldn't focus, her muscles relaxed, and her shaking had stopped. She closed her eyes for a second in an attempt to fix it, and address the people who had done this. All of it.

She became acutely aware of the doctor's actions. Drawing a substance into a syringe, way over on the other side of the wall of guns. She closed her eyes and focused, more intensely than she ever had before. She needed out of here. In the process of figuring out how, her mind flashed to the furthest point from them all; the hallway.

She opened her eyes. Or so she'd thought. That image of freedom was only all the more vivid. She tried to open her eyes for real, but she couldn't. _What she was seeing_ was real. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just run a mile, and she was standing in the hallway, just outside the double doors. Three feet from the two heavily-armed agents guarding them. Between them, through the tiny porthole windows, she caught a glimpse of an empty hospital bed, and several stunned agents.

She had no idea how she'd gotten there. Calmly, she let her mind recall the sequence for her. But one of the shocked men at the doors shifted slightly, and she snapped to attention. She raised her hands in surrender... maybe. They aimed their weapons anyway. And she went directly from being in front of the guns to behind them, just outside the circle of agents, back inside the room.

Yes.

As her heartbeat thumped in her ears, her thoughts connected, and ran together with a new, unobstructed speed and efficiency. The emotional barriers in her mind had melted down into beautiful, flowing reason. The river ran red with rage, but it drew to the surface a... power. Strong, fluid, pure. Blue. Below it there was fear, desire, frustration, anger, love. And the cogent sadness; the resounding, horrific sense of loss. She would, of course, destroy them all for that. At the side of the agent she was closest to was his long, sharp combat knife. She whipped it from its sheath before anyone even knew where she'd gone, and grinned.

The agent turned around gun-first, and he glanced at his knife, in her hand. He looked up at her eyes, which were full of a pity she did not feel, as she flipped the knife over in her hand and stabbed just past the right edge of his kevlar vest, at an inward angle to reach his heart.

The agents on either side of him turned just in time to see him fall at her feet. They instantly aimed at her again, and behind their shielded eyes she saw _fear_. Why weren't they shooting at her? She laughed. She sliced through several tendons on the gloved hand of the one who was closest, leaving his other hand to hold the heavy gun up by its barrel. He dropped the gun and threw an expert punch with his off-hand, which she predicted and dodged. As he reached down and across for his handgun - also on the wrong side - she slammed his head into her knee, in just the right spot to knock him out. She laughed some more. Never would they _not_ underestimate her skills, because of her relative weakness and size.

She looked up to see the three remaining room-posted guards - joined by the door guards - all jamming their guns into her face. "Hands on the floor!" the lead agent yelled forcefully. She looked around, furrowed her brow and frowned with an exaggerated, false concern. "Stand down, agent!" Her eyes focused on him. On the surface he sounded angry, but he was really practically _begging_ her to comply. He didn't _want_ to give the order to gun her down. Weakness of the metaphorical heart. Mistake.

She willed herself to be back in the hallway, picturing it with great detail in her head. But it didn't happen. Then an agent - whom she'd noticed was a little too focused on one of the bodies at her feet - lost control. She shot at her without really aiming, just barely missing her shoulder. That did it. She was suddenly in the hall again. With a horrible stinging pain in her upper arm. Warm blood flowed down the length of her arm from where the bullet had grazed her. Hm. 

With no agents to stop her now, she ran. She ran down the hallway that she was pretty sure would get her to the exit. Though eliminating agents was gratifying, she really just wanted to leave this world. She looked back, then ducked into a narrower hall. She would plot her vengeance from Asgard, with Loki. She was about to turn a corner when Coulson himself stepped out from behind it, wearing black kevlar over his nice, professional attire, and carrying a very large gun. As if to reinforce his determined stare, alarms began to blast, amplified by the building, and along with them a message in his calm voice:

"Emergency lockdown. Level seven threat. Hostile gifted. GR 4372, Sara Iversen. Apprehend at all costs. Emergency lockdown..."

He stepped forward slowly, but with confidence, and raised his voice just enough to be heard over the alarms. "I strongly advise that you cease and desist, agent. Cooperate, and we'll return you to your cell. Pretend like this never happened. Otherwise, I can't guarantee you won't lose _your_ life as well."

The rage surfaced in the river of inner peace once more. ' _Your_ life.' She adjusted the hold on the knife. She wanted to will herself past him. But if she did that, the element of surprise would give her a chance to kill him. She wouldn't be able to resist. She narrowed her eyes. Just give me a reason, she thought. She _would_ , if he suddenly became a more immediate threat.

She snapped out of it, and ran the other direction. She turned down a parallel hallway, but seven or eight more agents rushed in from another to confront her. She stopped _._

She could no longer suppress the anger. So... she _used_ it. She let it swell, giving her its destructive energy, urging her to try to physically fight these people with guns. And then it became something else. Something... beautiful. She appeared a few feet behind them all, effortlessly, and kept going.

Suddenly something flew past her, out of nowhere, so fast she could barely see it. She couldn't find the source. She whipped around to see where it went. One agent, who'd gotten much closer to her than she'd thought, collapsed to the floor. A second one about eight feet away stumbled, looking down in disbelief. He dropped his gun in order to grasp at the dagger in his chest. There was one in the other guy too. She hadn't even seen the second one go by. A few of the remaining six briefly checked the fallen for signs of life, then joined the ones who'd first realized where she went and were deftly swarming around her, screaming orders. Some of them were also using headsets to report her location. More were coming.

She stood on her toes to see over them, and noticed the runes on the flying daggers' handles. Loki!

One of the calmer, more experienced-looking ones took his hand off of his headset, but didn't lower his weapon. He spoke in a commanding tone. "That's a real neat trick, agent. But... do you hear that?" He glanced at a speaker on the ceiling just in time for the "apprehend at all costs" part. "You don't have the clearance to know what that _really_ means. But make another move and you'll find out. Most people that do, end up wishing that they hadn't."

Her eyes widened, but not in response to him, or the shifting guns, or even the agent who had a firm grip on her arm now. There was a vision of Loki at the end of the hallway. He was grinning maniacally; the happiest she'd ever seen him... and completely a figment of her imagination. He wasn't wearing royal armor, no one was reacting to his presence, and he wasn't moving at all.

It took a few seconds this time to summon the ability, while she resisted being pulled in the opposite direction. But then she was standing next to the dead agents, crouching, and freeing each of the daggers from their flesh. She inspected them. The runes were still there...

The quick, graceful steps she heard then were distinctly Loki's, as he made long strides towards the group. He passed her by and she froze, a very faint smell forcibly drawing out an overwhelming emotional response. Fine leather, herbs, incense... he was _real!_

And these daggers, she thought, smiling down at them, were _more than_ real.

She whipped her arm around in one fluid motion to stand and plunge a dagger deep into the first attacker's neck, always a weak point in their armor. She didn't think she'd put that much force into the strike. But she took it back easily, and he fell. Before any of the others could move to avenge him, Loki grabbed one from behind and cut his throat. Suddenly, half the guns were aimed at him. She glanced around to see if more were coming yet. Coulson was nowhere to be seen.

Another agent ran up gun-first, presenting her with both of his hands. She expertly sliced them at the same time, expecting to disarm him and send him in search of help before he bled out. But that was not exactly what happened.

The effect was startling. The daggers... slid through... No, they _parted_ the flesh around them, as if they were slicing through smoke. The flesh on the back of the agent's left hand flayed out, revealing the intended severed tendons and then some. His fingers dangled, limp and useless. His right hand, on which she'd used more force in anticipation of hitting bone, was _gone_. He screamed in agony and fell to his knees, narrowly avoiding the severed hand, trying desperately to hold his arm with the other.

Wait, she thought. This is all one of Loki's illusions. The guy's not bleeding. Bastard. Why would Loki do all of this? She glared at him. But he had his back turned to her, skillfully fighting off another agent. It was only then, as she shifted her feet, that she noticed she was standing in a grotesque amount of blood from the first guy. She poked the corpse with her toe. It made contact, and the image didn't even flicker, though Loki _had_ to be concentrating on felling his rapidly-multiplying foes. Then she remembered his description of what those daggers could do to a mortal. No exaggeration there, she thought, holding back an evil grin.

Together they made quick work of every agent dumb enough to attack them, and absconded, with no pursuers, into the desert. Loki took her hand and led her at a fast pace, far away from the facility. They were so far that she could barely hear the alarms anymore when he stopped. He turned to her, looked directly at her middle, then up to her eyes. He looked worried; almost fearful. But his eyes were unmoving, refusing to accept the meaning of what they saw. "Sara, I... cannot sense the mind of my son. What have they done to my son?"

She stared blankly as the adrenaline rush subsided. Her sadness rose above the serene numbness, allowing her to feel again. Her eyes welled up. She was surprised there were any tears left to shed. "Daughter."

Loki squinted at her. "What?"

"My baby... our baby..." She choked on the next word. "w-was a girl. What they did..." She turned her face away, so she didn't have to see his. "I went into labor. She's gone."

He stepped back and growled softly, frustrated. He looked at the ground and shook his head. "No. No, there are many ways to shield a being from my senses. I'm not as powerful in this realm. They must have found a way to conceal him." His eyes came back to her. "What did you see them do?"

Her heart was still pounding from the walk, and... what went down, in the building. She struggled to say more. She wrapped her arms around herself, and whimpered at the memory of her belly. "I... I _felt_ it, Loki." She bent forward, gasping, heaving from the pain. "I felt her dying inside of me."

He grabbed her shoulders roughly, bringing her upright, and held her still. He grasped her chin and lifted her face. His godly eyes held power over hers, which were weak; he slipped past them easily. Then, still locked on hers, they began to quiver. Widening them, he blinked, and a single tear escaped their fiery grasp. It cut right through the fresh blood on his cheek. She struggled to get free of him... the level of emotion was unfathomable. It broke right through him; too strong and pure to be concealed by strength or illusion.

He released her mind, ignored her squirming, and quickly pulled her into him. The deep, dark voice that she'd missed so much remained smooth in spite of itself. She felt its vibrations, even through his armor. "They will suffer... _immeasurably_... for this." She shook in his arms, her tears renewed by what she'd felt through him. Sensing this, he softened his tone. "For now, my queen, we must take our leave." She nodded her head against his chest. He held her so tightly, that she almost felt safe again. He looked up into the clear desert sky. "Heimdall."


	23. Fight or Flight

"Welcome back, My Queen." Heimdall addressed only the quivering mortal in his arms. His imposing voice was quite gentle; full of kindness and sincerity. It was odd to hear. Heimdall saw war, famine, decimation... entire worlds'  worth of death and tragedy every day. He must have spoken with her at length before her return to Midgard. It was his duty to protect them all...

"Have I been discovered?"

"No, My King. Though, it will not be long before they know of her disappearance."

Loki had made sure to disable their technology, and take the life of every mortal who'd laid eyes on him. But the carnage was not so wide as to appear unnatural. He'd not been visible for the majority of the encounter. He'd no desire to make an enemy of _all of_ Midgard just yet.

"Thank you, good Heimdall, but they do not concern me. Let them search. Query. Anguish, over _their_ losses - " He realized that his tone had deteriorated into one of contempt as he spoke of them. To keep his throne, he must keep it to himself... for now.

Sara struggled against his hold again. The well-deserved hatred he harbored for her people had likely frightened her. He admonished himself for that, and let her go. But in fact, she wasn't fearful... she was angry! After seeing his face - which he was certain wore quite the dominating expression - she backed away, but stayed by his side. She held herself, and scowled at the golden floor, the remnants of her tears still fresh on her delicate features. She was most alluring when she let that inherent ferocity show.

He lifted his face away from hers and directed his attention back to Heimdall. "My orders, for this incident, are as follows: None from Midgard may pass. And no Asgardian may travel to Midgard without my knowledge. You will notify me if someone requests that loathsome destination." He glanced at the resident Midgardian to see her reaction. None. Good.

His bright gaze cast low in thought, Heimdall hesitated. "Yes, My King."

As he stepped away, he closed his eyes for a moment. He acknowledged his inner turmoil in front of no one. But still he reeled from it... their loss. The emotion rose in him again, and he felt it, acknowledged it, then reigned it in with cold logic. Yes, it was unfortunate. He'd very much wanted an heir. But there would be ample time for that later. He decided to take advantage of the situation, as was his strength and specialty, and continue to move forward with his plans. He'd rather raise a child in a more secure universe, anyway, he thought. A universe free of the looming threat of man.

Sara stared at him intensely, as if she were trying to understand something; some part of him, all of a sudden. For a moment he had to remind himself that she could not see minds; so deeply her eyes transfixed on his. She needed his help to move past this. And then, her rage would serve him well.

He moved to the edge of the shimmering bridge, and offered her his hand. Her fierce expression remained. But she took it. He led her back to the ever-patient Sorti. She let him lift her onto his back, he joined her, and they made their way back to the Hall of Asgard.

She was more like a doll than a human. She watched with lifeless eyes, angry yet compliant. It was good to see that she trusted him this much. He would keep her close, comfort her, fix her broken body. Then, he would fix her broken mind.

Willing, not likely. But she was _ready_.

He sat on the large, soft bed in the king's chambers, and indicated with a sweep of his hand that she do the same. "Now. Tell me everything."

Her lips parted... but not for words. For a deep, shuddering breath. He'd not failed to notice that her tears flowed freely the entire time she'd battled the mortals of SHIELD. He'd have rushed to comfort her then, had he not been so enchanted by her beautiful dance of death. She seethed with rage.

He peered into her eyes. "What have they done to you, pet?"

She closed them. She was trying not to quiver, but her hands betrayed her, as they so often did.

Not inclined to try to coerce her into the healer's hall again, he lifted one hand towards the gaping, bleeding wound on her arm. He waited for her to look at him again before touching - but that never happened. So he decided to forego the formalities. He lifted her arm up slightly. She flinched at his touch, and it woke her from her trance. But he proceeded quickly. He studied it for a moment, then passed two fingers over it closely, willing it to alter; to seal. She glared at him with such malice that it startled him upon returning his attention to her face... something not many could do. He would have to address that. "May I... see... all that happened? I promise you, I'll do nothing else."

To his surprise she slowly, slightly nodded.

It was as expected. It was all there on the surface, strong and fresh. She'd been obsessing over the events ever since their escape from the SHIELD fortress. He had to dig for some things, for example the meaning of 'Hydra'. He lightly touched one of her wrists, subconsciously, as he saw what was under the wrappings. And at several points he had to withdraw, in order to contain his own anger.

And then, beneath all the more emotional occurrences, he saw the logic behind her actions. She had indeed fled - not from him, but from the Tesseract. She still didn't trust him in that regard. This would make things difficult.

"Sara, you... left because of my intentions involving the Tesseract?" He let go of her. "For this you would have risked your life, and taken my child from me?"

The malice instantly returned. She slammed her fists down on the bed and went directly from silence to screaming at him. "You wouldn't listen to me! Your 'understanding' of that thing is bullshit! To purposefully use its power to change the outward appearance of a child... it's wrong! And _you_... I felt that evil when we first met, too. It had _consumed_ you."

He let out a dark, derisive laugh. "Poor naive, daunted girl. You still fail to understand the differences between us. It would take something exponentially more powerful to 'consume' the likes of me."

She smoothed back her hair with one hand, lingering a moment on her forehead. "I went to Earth to find out if I _would need_ to hide from you. I didn't think I'd be captured, or mistreated... especially not to the point... that..." Her hand slid down to tightly cover her mouth. She rose from the bed and moved towards the door.

He followed her, making every effort to keep his frustration from his voice. "You mustn't go out there, pet. Not like this." He wasn't as successful as he'd have liked.

She ignored him. He briefly considered telling her _why_ , to get her to stay and calm herself. But she was almost to the door. He seized her arm. He needed her to listen to him, just for a moment more.

She turned quickly, unexpectedly, and it took him a second to realize why. She'd drawn one of the daggers from somewhere under her tunic. She was threatening him! Apparently she'd learned nothing from the time before. When he refused to release her she slashed downward from her shoulder. He narrowly avoided being cut. Stupid, weak little wretch. She _knew better_...

He lowered his brow and let his eyes advise her that she not attempt that again. He firmly pulled her back towards him. But the skills she'd learned were instinctive now. She countered the movement by twisting inward in the same direction, and as she spun into him, she stabbed down and backwards, at his ribcage, before he could move away. This, of course, put her free hand exactly where he needed it to be. He took it, and went to his knees, using his superior strength to bring her down with him. He hadn't harmed her, but she was unable to use her legs to attack, and he pinned her arms to her sides as well. She screamed as if she were being tortured. And perhaps, in her mind, she was. But he held her there until he'd composed himself enough to speak calmly. He leaned in to her ear. "I've no desire to harm you. But there are things you must know before I allow you to leave - "

Then, without warning, she was gone... leaving him there on his knees, with two handfuls of nothing. He looked down at himself where she'd struck him. The dagger had cut through his leather and tunic, and barely grazed his skin. Had he been any other, he'd have a serious injury to contend with.

This power she possessed was disconcerting. He'd heard of these things before, but never were they done with such ease. Perhaps it was a result of... or the source... of her need to flee from everything. He was somewhat relieved to see that she'd taken the weapon with her. But somewhere she was alone, angry, afraid, confused... and harboring an inexplicably strong power, the complexity of which had him astonished that any mortal could control it in the slightest. He had to reach her soon.

He picked himself up and went to find his guards. He informed them of the situation - all except for the nature of her skill - and ordered them to search for her. Powerful as she was, she hadn't the experience to leave the city. She'd be drawn to places she knew well; had a clear mental image of. These were the places he'd be searching himself, as well as some that the others were entirely unaware of.

Despite their extensive efforts, she simply could not be found. Day after day went by with little word of her activity. He knew she was alive and well... at least, well enough to use the skill. He caught the occasional fleeting glimpse of her in a public place. She would always see or - he suspected - _sense_ him, and effortlessly disappear, leaving him to explain to any witnesses why... and what more than human their queen really was.

The range of her movements also made her consciousness nearly impossible to locate. Vexingly, he still could - when she stayed in one place for a while. But he was never close enough to determine where she was; not while she was calm and content. And as soon as she wasn't, she was gone. He found himself unable to conceal his worries from the others. For more reasons than he'd care to admit, he _needed_ her to be safe.

Finally, he found her... quite by accident. He was mingling amongst the people in the streets where the markets were. He'd spent more time there as of late. In full armor, he would attract attention, lending him opportunities to reinforce his people's love and respect. But it was also one of the few places reminiscent of Midgard. He thought it likely that she might feel more at home there. And he was right.

Constantly wary of it, he sensed her presence. Not strong with emotion, but very close. She was asleep... somewhere. As far as he could tell, her resilient mind had healed substantially, but this had of course increased her need for rest.

It must be comforting - with her fearful nature, he thought, to be able to escape anyone, any _thing_ , anytime. Though a part of him despised the idea, he knew the only way he'd ever be able to help her was to forcibly prevent that from happening. And he believed he'd found a way to do it.

He followed the dim beacon that was her presence to the highest roof of one of the craftsmen's homes. There, he obscured himself from all sight, and used every bit of stealth he'd learned to aid that skill to get close to her. She was curled in on herself, under a thick white fur, her face buried in an armful of it. And she wore her armor again. So _that_ was why she'd been in the halls a few times. Several agouti furs lay beneath her as well. Aside from being on a wind-blasted roof, she seemed to be quite comfortable. But unfortunately, he needed to speak to her... for more than the brief moment she'd allow.

She was entirely covered, with the exception of one place... Damn. He'd no desire to frighten her, but it must be done, he assured himself. He crouched silently, focused his mind, and swiftly wrapped his hand around the narrow strip of pale, exposed skin on the back of her neck.

She shrieked, and tried to flee, but his theory had been correct all along. Her skill centered around being able to control not only her matter, but space itself. And _his_ ability to control matter - weak though it was - combined with the knowledge of space he'd gained from the Tesseract, gave him the ability to keep her there. He stifled a laugh. Irony.

He couldn't help but flicker back into perception, as he focused all of his energies on the task instead. Were it not for her continued screaming, he'd have feared accidentally crushing her windpipe, she thrashed about so violently. But he would not loosen his grip. It had taken too much effort, and far too long, for him to risk her getting free. He pulled her to her feet as she protested. "Let me go! What - How are you doing that? Let go of me! Leave me alone!"

"Listen to me!" he commanded. He'd not been prepared for this fight. "Calm yourself. I won't harm you. I don't blame you. You've nothing to fear."

She paused, and closed her eyes. He wondered if this was to regain her composure - or to focus harder on her only method of escape. Her dagger lay useless at her feet. He maintained his hold, though she writhed and wrenched on his arm. Finally she gave up, and spoke to him harshly through clenched teeth. " _What_ do you _want_?"

Somewhat agitated, and certain of his ability now, a taunting tone seeped into his words. "Only to speak with you, pet."

"I'll gladly speak with you... if you let me go," she bargained.

He produced a long, sinister chuckle as he drew her in closer, until he had her ear. "No."

"Loki!" She spat his own name at him as if she were breathing fire.

"Here is what will transpire," he elaborated smoothly. "You will accompany me to my chambers. You'll neither struggle nor scream. We'll have a rather lengthy conversation regarding all of this. And when I feel you understand, I'll leave you to your will."

A bluff. With the amount of concentration and energy it took to control her, he was doing quite well to form coherent sentences. He needed direct contact in order to alter the transient state, as often as she tried to use it. He extended his arm a bit, tilted his head towards her face, and offered her his other hand.

She practically bored a hole through him with her eyes. But she took it, knowing it would cause him to release her neck. Much to his relief, she complied with his demands. When they reached his chambers, she even apologized - while he closed the door behind them and sealed the room from sound.

"I... I'm sorry - "

"There is no need to apologize for your behavior. You cannot help but be distrusting. Your people will always fear the unknown."

"Maybe. But not everyone. Not me."

He made little effort to hide his amusement at that. "You, my dear, _are_ the unknown... and you fear yourself."

Through the relentless scowl came words that took him by surprise. "You're right."

He added a gentle second hand to the first one's iron grip, and looked into her eyes. "For too long now, I've stood aside, and watched our loss destroy you. What you _must_ understand... is that all things must be destroyed, in order to be _remade_."

She lifted her gaze and stared at him indignantly. "I would give up this power in an instant, if it would bring her back."

He gave a sideways nod. "And I mine. But this is not the reality of things. I cannot ease the pain of what happened. But I can offer you enlightenment. To understand the power within you is vital to your well-being."

She glanced down at herself as if expecting to fade away. She truly had little control over it. It was brought on by sheer will; spikes of wild emotion. "Is this... one that you have?"

Softly, he replied, "No. But, if you trust me, I've another way to help." And then he shared his excitement. "You would have such a mastery... It would render you practically unstoppable. Even by me."

She peered at him, a sudden renewal of caution in her eyes. She looked down at their hands. "You can let go of me now. I won't run." She tapped her head. "See for yourself."

He sighed. "I'm afraid I cannot, pet."

There was no hesitation. As someone so distrustful, she believed he didn't trust her. "Then what now? Now that there's no more 'bargain' between us? I can't go back..."

He grimaced. _If only_ it hadn't happened the way it did. He'd surely have been able to gain her cooperation. And he wouldn't have to do this. "Fear not, my queen. For you have another purpose." He led her, by her hand, towards the large storage chest at the end of his bed.

Suddenly she was nervous. "Loki... what are you doing?"

He gave her his most charming smile, and opened the chest with his free hand. Unfortunately, this was where things would become most arduous. The interior of the chest glowed blue with the energy of the Tesseract. It was much too powerful for him to conceal.

His mortal's eyes looked as though they might burst. Such anger, such fear. It would leave her soon enough.

She trembled as she leaned backwards, pulling as hard as she could in the opposite direction. "N- no, no no no please, Loki! No!"

He reached in, not for the cube but for two long strips of fine leather. Soft, so as not to further damage her wrists. Unarmed she was easy to handle. But he knew she would injure herself, and he didn't want that. He tried coercion first. "No amount of begging will change what is happening, pet. I ask of you now: _trust me_. I know it is difficult... but this is what you need. I will not let it take you, I _promise_. It cannot change me either. But, if for some reason I _were_ wrong, know that I would lay down my life to keep it from doing so."

She stopped pulling for a moment, considering his words carefully. Then she thought she'd catch him by surprise. She tried to twist her arm out of his grip. He tightened it to the point where he might be causing pain. He shot her a look of warning. "You will either trust me as requested, and sit in front of the chest yourself, or I will force you there."

Surprisingly, she complied. He lowered her down, his strength providing support for the otherwise one-handed maneuver. She propped herself up against the chest as indicated. He'd never seen her less concerned for her own fate. He watched her very carefully, suspicious of the sudden loss of fight. She closed her eyes as he lifted her free hand up to the upper right corner. Her arm was limp, as if she'd given up. But there was no sense of defeat... she was concentrating on escaping. She must have recalled what he'd divulged to her soon after they'd met, regarding the extent and difficulty of his skills. Quickly, he looped the leather around her wrist, and tied it to the handle on that side, effectively pinning it to the chest's gilded edge.

When he moved to the hand he had, she snapped to attention. She was waiting for him to leave her hand, bound only by leather. Foolish girl. He simply put his other hand on her inner shoulder before releasing hers.

Once he was certain she was immobilized, he wasted no time. The more energy he had to use to keep her in the room, the more dangerous the Tesseract became for them both. He removed the cube from the chest and closed the lid. For a moment, she was petrified, merely by its presence. Then she looked up at him directly, with those captivating green eyes. "Please," she begged. "Don't do this."

He furrowed his brow. "Do what, pet? What is it that you think will happen here?"

She jerked on her bonds as she spoke, fear evolving into panic. "Loki... I'm only human. Whatever it is that makes the Tesseract so powerful; it'll kill me!"

He held up a finger. "Ah, but you are not only a human," he corrected. He genuinely hoped it would not kill her. Though she was 'gifted', as her people called it, she was still of a lesser species. It was the reason she couldn't be forced to touch the Tesseract herself. But it was well worth the risk, and now was the time. Her spirit had been broken, her mind all but defenseless in its desperation for answers. And that was precisely what he had for her.

Quickly, he touched her forehead, and made contact with her mind. "No..." she whimpered, as her physical protests weakened. She hung her head, a method she used to hide her face from him, as it caused a curtain of long silvery hair to fall all around it. But no matter... as long as he could maintain contact. He took a deep breath, and released the cube from its prison. Then he let the will of the Tesseract flow through him, and into her. He monitored the information it shared. Beautiful though her mind was, the full understanding of all of the inner workings of the universe was too much. It had come disturbingly close to robbing him of his. He retained anything not of the nine realms. He'd no desire to give her the ability to venture beyond his reach, anyway.

Gradually she raised her head. Her eyes were wide and unperceptive, pupils dilated. Her shaking stopped, and her horrified expression morphed into one of overwhelming awe. She parted her lips slightly, and let out a short breath, as if she were seeing something wondrous. She was almost smiling. Then, that faded away. She squinted, confused, and lowered her brow. She began to breathe quickly, slowly shaking her head, in fear and disbelief. He was having trouble keeping his hand on her head as it moved. So he carefully pushed it back onto the curved lid of the chest and held her still. She stiffly resisted the movement. She quivered, and cried out, in sheer terror. But he was determined. He would take her to the very limits of her sanity. And then, what a powerful weapon she would be!


	24. Enlightenment

Sara hadn't wanted to hurt Loki. But she was exhausted, and when he'd grabbed her, she'd found herself unable to leave. Using the dagger on him had conveyed the seriousness of that need. But when he'd ignored it, and held her captive anyway, she'd panicked... and that was it.

She couldn't handle being anyone's captive again... not even his.

She appeared in the place where she'd been most content in recent memory - the gardens. She knew Loki would immediately order up a thorough search for her, under the guise of concern. Maybe it was genuine. Who knew with him anymore. But the garden paths were long and tangled enough that it would give her time to rest. If she was wrong, she could always get away again - at least, she was pretty sure of that.

She didn't care what Loki thought she 'must know'. She needed time. Time alone, away; time to think and to heal. And to get a grasp on her new, supernatural level of weird.

She sat on a rock and calmed herself first. She was not about to show any guards she _did_ encounter the weakness, or any opportunity to touch her. It was noticeably more difficult to escape while anyone was touching her - and at least doubly so if that someone was Asgardian. The evidence for that conclusion thus far was rather limited, but observation was all she had to go on. She never would have thought she'd be studying the supernatural physiology in _herself_. Her mind drifted to the methods she'd used on others in her old career. What she wouldn't give for a high-powered microscope right now.

After almost an hour of trying - with little success - to kill some of the deep-seated rage and sadness within, she decided she should move on. She took the back streets and less-beaten paths deep into her second-favorite place of solitude: the forest.

She didn't originally intend to spend several days there. But with the ability to pop in and out of everywhere else relatively unseen - retrieving a set of armor, among other things - she was able to make herself quite comfortable. It never did take much to accomplish that, though. She figured it was a good idea to keep away from civilization for a while, while she experimented with the unknown. And once it became apparent that a good strong nightmare could relocate her without her even realizing, she resolved to stay there until she could control it fully... however long that might take.

Unfortunately, the stuff of her nightmares - the circumstances under which her supernatural skill had manifested - was her biggest clue in the curious case of 'how the fuck'.

The skill felt like a deeply-ingrained instinct; a drive which had gone unrecognized and unresolved her entire life. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that it had always been a part of her personality. Most of the time she could use her natural jumpyness to relocate herself - and a small amount of attached matter - short distances. But sometimes she just couldn't. The x-fa ctor, she concluded, was mental clarity. And it was fickle. It was hard _not_ to do it while she was struggling against an emotion, especially fear... and anger. Seeing Loki had relocated her against her will several times, and it had felt the same as when she'd woken up in a different place because of a nightmare. The relief of an escape.  
  
Distance seemed to be determined by - for lack of a better term - power. As was how heavy an object she could take with her... though that factor wasn't perfectly consistent. A fallen tree branch that weighed more than the fruit it had sprouted from was, for whatever reason, easier to relocate. She hadn't figured that one out yet. She'd no idea how, but she could always _feel_ the power. She only had to focus to summon more... dedicating her entire mind to it sometimes, to move something very heavy very far.  
  
So the next question was, why wasn't she just constantly relocating herself by accident? She decided that it was the balance between the two. Focus and clarity. Rage and serenity. It would always try to take with her whatever she was touching - if she had the power for it. But if the power wasn't there to move it, _she_ wasn't going anywhere either. Which was also why it was so difficult to get away when someone was touching her, she surmised. Asgardians were especially heavy things. Fortunately, her clothing provided a barrier against that. For the most part, it was the only thing to actually touch her skin.  
  
She scoffed at a particularly stupid thought one day: the Hydra-applied bandages on her wrists had saved her from SHIELD. But then her eyes welled up at the memory. Just acknowledging it brought forth the tumultuous intensity of it all. She wiped away the tears... but ended up giving in. She put both hands over her face, leaned forward on the leafy floor and bawled her burning eyes out... again. Chest heaving, quietly sobbing, she doubled over and buried her face in both arms and her knees, in a habitual attempt to further silence the pathetic sounds of despair. But it wasn't enough. She heard the distant, authoritative yell of a lead guard. She looked up through watery eyes. What! Loki was having them comb the forests too? She knew she wasn't really thinking straight. But she had to leave immediately. And, with only the thought of 'away' as a place to go, she ended up on top of a very tall structure she'd once admired. She tentatively looked over the edge and sighed. If she didn't want to keep dealing with the results of her hasty retreats, she'd need to conceal her identity some.  
  
Still leaking tears through the calm, she willed herself down to a secluded spot near the street market below. She moved through the crowd, pretending that all was normal and no one was looking for her, especially not the king. Her presence caused a few whispers and alarmed expressions, but no immediate actions, and certainly no attempts to stop her. She smiled. She was, after all, the queen. And before that, she was everybody's friend. Here she seemed to belong, whereas Loki really didn't.  
  
She quickened her pace and haplessly swiped a long, hooded black cloak from a merchant whom she didn't like very much. She put it on quickly to further the illusion that it was hers, and pulled the hood over her head. But unfortunately, the persistent state of shock from all that had happened had affected her mundane skills. She'd somehow drawn the merchant's attention, and _of course_ he recognized her, even though she was already several tables away. He loudmouthed her presence to the world. "Y - Your Majesty..."  
  
Afraid that she might break down again in front of him; or worse - issue a harsh order out of anger - she willed herself away, fast. But she'd failed to control her inner torment - that most powerful, prominent of emotions.... and ended up in the ocean. The cold, furious ocean that she'd seen before, roiling far, far below the rainbow bridge. That particular emotion had always made a part of her want to die.

She remembered how that body of water ended: abruptly, at the edge of the realm or something, falling off into oblivion. Instinctively she tried to swim towards the end of the Bifrost - and she could swim quite well. But the current was incredibly strong, and even if she somehow made it to the base of the monolithic device, she realized, the waves would probably smash her into it. Or one of the many jagged rocks between here and there. The odds were exponentially against her.

After trying for only a minute or so, exhausted, and with no better ideas, she gave up. Her own mind had brought her here. She'd denied it; refused to acknowledge it, and shoved it down deeper each time the thought that inspired this action surfaced. But it had attached itself to the end of that which already followed each attempt at absolution for her existence: She should have died that day; she should be dead. She wasn't, but she should be. She should be, _because Coulson was right_.

She closed her eyes, and relaxed her cold and burning body, blissfully welcoming a sense of imminent peace.

The sound of heavy footfalls on a miles-long, smooth surface broke through the crash of the surf. Someone was running down the bridge. It didn't matter. But it echoed, even through the churning water, as she sank.

Her lungs burned for air. Then they burned with the water they'd taken in. But suddenly something wrapped itself tightly around her waist, so strong and fast that it temporarily knocked them clear. Before she could recover and wriggle free of it, her head was above water again. And she was being pulled towards the Bifrost, quickly this time, all the while coughing and gagging so violently that she couldn't do much else about it.

Finally, her useless body was lifted up completely, and carried, despite the occasional jolt from a slip of footing. She was gently placed down on a flat, wet surface. Though her eyes were weak and unfocused, she still recognized the golden glimmer of that supernatural, spherical place at the end of the rainbow. She was pushed onto her side, and the coughing gradually subsided. A deep voice registered to her ears, after several frantic tries. "My Queen!"

This was not what she'd wanted. She shouldn't be alive; a hundred times over now she shouldn't be alive! But she was. And _who the fuck_ had even _seen_ her...

Of course. She knew it before she even opened her eyes again to see a helmless, half-armored Heimdall knelt down faithfully by her side. His eyes were eerie as ever, but his face was contorted in distress. She'd never have recognized him, if not for the tell-tale voice. "My Queen... forgive me... I have seen your abilities, but I know not the meaning of this. How have you come to be here?"

Her frigid brain slowly made sense of his words. She made her deadened arms move, and worked to sit up. When she was halfway there, he put a hand on her back and lent her some of his strength. She wrapped her arms around herself, caught her breath, and mustered up some words. "I - I don't know."

When there was no response, she looked up and over at him. He knew. He knew she had that information, and he made no attempt to change the expression that said so.

"I'm afraid you cannot lie to me." His tone wasn't accusatory, just informative. And perhaps even a little bit understanding. Omnipotent as he was, there probably wasn't much that he didn't understand.

"Please don't tell Loki."

He furrowed his brow. "My Queen, I must - "

"You may consider that an order," she interrupted, softly.

His stern, thoughtful expression melted slightly, into an almost-indiscernible smile. "Then I must obey." He stood, and offered to help her up. Recovered enough, she accepted, and he brought her to her feet. But he kept her hand in his for a moment longer. "My Queen - "

"Sara," she mindlessly suggested, as she'd already done for everyone else.

"Sara," he agreed. He reflected for a moment, probably on something unfathomable to her mortal mind. "I have observed a great many lives. Untold difficulties. Resilience. Failure. Concord. War..." His gaze fell slightly. "Some would say that for it, I am wise." He seemed to reconsider it. "Perhaps it is so. _Fewer_ know that I am always willing to share such wisdom," His eyes returned to hers. "...with those who would ask it of me."

She looked down. Pulling her dumb ass out of the water was probably not much trouble for him. But suddenly she felt shy in his presence; ashamed to have caused such a being any concern. She whispered only, "Thank you."

He nodded. Then he made his way, with impossibly-regal composure, up the side of another slanted wall and across the various buttresses and platforms surrounding the structure. Back to his post.

Lesson learned. She could concentrate, focus and 'control' the ability herself. Or she could let the emotions do it. And end up wherever the most powerful one wanted her to be.

She peeled off her hard-earned cloak and wrung it out as she stood, shivering, and staring off the edge of the massive waterfalls into the sky. Since her fate was apparently to remain amongst the living, what this incident had really done was impress upon her the need to gain _control_ of her skill. It was no fair exchange for the life of her baby. But perhaps she could find a good use for it. And SHIELD would pay dearly - by her hand if lucky, by _Loki's_ if they were not.

The salt water brought her attention back to something that really wasn't helping with all that. Physical pain. Her wrists and ankles. Her breasts. And what she had to assume was her cervix, because it didn't feel the same as her uterus. It was a lot like the pain Loki had introduced her to... what seemed like ages ago. Her insides had hurt some ever since the Hydra facility. But they'd been sore, and cramping inconsolably, since whatever SHIELD had done to them. She couldn't ignore it all anymore. She needed help. Her shivering increased with a strong gust of wind, and she almost lost the cloak. She thought of seeking out a fire first, just to warm her bones. But incidentally, both could be found in one place: the healer's hall. And the head healer was someone whom she knew was very kind.

"Queen Sara!" Geisli exclaimed as soon as she appeared in the hall. He practically ran across the room to her corner... as if that were normal, and they were long lost friends.

She put a finger to her lips, and looked around for anyone more than the two other healers that were casually moving about in the adjacent room. She wasn't sure how quickly the search for her had spread.

Geisli obeyed the silent order, but the look on his face asked 'why'. He had very pretty eyes, she noticed, as she looked into them to stress the importance of his silence. He opened his mouth, really wanting to speak, but he quickly closed it. He pressed his lips together. Then he gave in to his thoughts and attacked her with an unexpected bear hug. He didn't seem to care that she was soaking wet, and roughly the temperature of a popsicle. He whispered from her shoulder "I am sorry for your loss."

She should have been prepared for it. Should have known that anyone who knew her would remind her again. And she may have been able to hold herself together, if not for the pain in her breasts from the embrace. Some cruel biological salt in the wound. She'd been making milk, despite the loss of the baby. She'd ignored it, hoping her body would somehow get the message and stop. But now they were swollen, to the point that half of her tears were caused by the increase in pain.

Geisli felt her sobs. He pulled away, to her relief, and grabbed her hand. "Come, come," he whispered as he dragged her into another room. She clarified things as soon as he'd closed the door behind them. "Don't let anyone in, or tell them that I'm here. Not even the king."

He titled his head at her curiously. "You needn't issue such orders to me, My Queen." She realized her tone had been rather commanding. She wondered for how long she'd felt so comfortable speaking to the people the same way Loki did. He didn't give her a chance to apologize, applying a comforting touch to her shoulder instead. "I will do anything in my power to help you. This includes defying Loki's orders. King he may be, but it was not he who carried the child. He has no... physical effects, remaining, to suffer." He fumbled with his words as he stared at her chest - in the most professional way that could be done. Her armor no longer concealed all but a modest amount of cleavage.

She caught his gaze. "They hurt. I didn't know this could still happen... with no baby." More tears. She was getting used to them. The rest of her expression remained unchanged. Only her eyes acknowledged the torment anymore.

His kind, round face was so sympathetic. But he never let the stares linger long enough to make her uncomfortable. "Cabbage leaves."

"What?"

"Cabbage leaves," he repeated cheerfully. "They work well to reduce the swelling. The ones in the feasting hall should be iced already, but if not, ice them overnight. They are perfect in shape, and they hold a chill, relieving the pain until you stop producing." She almost didn't see him glance at the medical table in the center of the room, he looked away again so fast. He didn't even want to _ask_ her to sit on another table. He actually lowered himself instead, to pick at the bandages that were preventing her from wearing her boots. "This injury, however... is likely infected from your travels." He stood and lifted a wrist, turning it, inspecting it. "You _must_ allow me to clean and re-bandage them all." He warmed her hand in his, then gave it back to her, and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a thick, fuzzy blanket. She eagerly took it, and he turned to face the wall while she stripped down and wrapped herself up as tightly as she could stand. When he turned back, he narrowed his eyes at her a bit. She was still considering whether or not to let him clean her up. But he saw right through her attempts to hide additional pains _not_ caused by his touching. He was nothing if not observant. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "What more than this?"

She put a hand on her stomach, then wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm having some pretty bad cramps. I don't know how much you've heard - "

"Everything," he said frankly. "I've not withheld any question - nor opinion - from King Loki, since you left."

Good to hear that His Majesty hadn't been taking his frustrations out on anyone else because of her. He wouldn't be finding her anywhere until she was _ready_ to see him again. The would-be father... "I don't know what SHIELD did to me exactly. The cramping was much worse in their cell... but they put me to sleep for what followed."

His eyes widened slightly. Was that... anger? An angry Geisli? "Cramping is normal, for after... no matter the means. Your body returns to its original size and shape. I will give you something for the pain - "

She held up her hand. "No. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't another injury. My... progenitors, have a pretty good understanding of all that as well. But I don't trust them." He gave her a sad smile and nodded.

He asked more questions, regarding all aspects of the event, than she ever would have been willing to tolerate from anyone else in Asgard. He was just so damn nice! It was what she needed, really. Some understanding. Whatever nefarious goals Loki was focused on now, they certainly didn't involve her.

After tactfully reminding her of his harmlessness a few times, Geisli even got her to sit on the table and let him clean the burns. She was trying really, really hard not to let a phobia of tables and beds develop from all that had happened to her. She could escape whenever she wanted to now, she reminded herself... repeatedly.

She continued to visit Geisli and a select few trustworthy others - but only out of necessity. She was pretty good at surviving on her own, and though she was far from finished making extraordinary mistakes, she began to feel more and more confident in her supernatural state. Confident enough to return to the city. Too confident, it turned out. And stupid enough to underestimate Loki's keen determination to regain control of her.

His intimidating methods notwithstanding, now... now Sara understood. Everything. All that she needed to master her skills, and more.

Space. Energy. Matter... what had he done to her? It was _beyond_ overwhelming. The Tesseract had rewired her brain, and carved into it the... rules, as they were, of the universe. And they were not the same as what humans thought. Then, it had honed in on her gift. It was similar to the Tesseract's own nature. Control of space, to put it simply. She was everywhere, at all points in space, at all times. Everything was. But she only needed a mental image to decide upon one - an evolutionary kindness. It prevented her from trying to occupy the same space as other matter.

It had made her appreciate, and respect, the ability she possessed. But _to control it_ was key. It had shown her how her gift worked within those rules, completely, down to the molecular level... the atomic... the subatomic... and that was where she'd lost it. She'd failed to follow, couldn't understand, so it had pushed her, insisting, forcing it into her mind. It was more than any human brain could handle at once. She'd resisted it, fearing for her weaker consciousness, and at some point become aware of the extreme pain it had been causing in her head... soon after, it was abruptly cut off from her. The Tesseract's strength of will had proven itself to be, at the purest level, terrifying.

It was hard now, to focus; to perceive _just_ this world. She found herself unable to move or speak, as she struggled to keep up with her own mind. It was everywhere; trying to keep its grasp on the beautiful chaos that was just some of the workings of the physical universe. There was a very real possibility that the attempt had taken her sanity.

It had been her heart, all along. The slight decrease in blood flow to her brain had been enough to render her gift unusable. It had stayed there, in the dark recesses of her mind, latent, even after she received her new one. What happened at the SHIELD facility forced her to summon more mental strength than she'd ever had to before - finally enabling her to access it. 

The second ingredient: the feeling she perceived as power... it wasn't weight that determined the amount needed, it was _density_. Whether she realized or not, when she teleported something she was wrapping her mind around every atom. It was fascinating. The Tesseract had shown her how to really use it; a truer perception of distance, and the sources within planets, and certain beings...

She looked up at Loki. In her mind he glowed with power, an energy... potential magic. Green. When she was near him, she drew from that. She wondered if he'd noticed. But now it was fading away.

He loomed over her, with quite the evil smile. There was, perhaps, a slight hint of concern in his eyes. His hands were no longer on her anywhere. She gathered up her consciousness, and tapped into the river of rage. Desperate to escape, she used it. She felt it every bit as strongly as before. But as the tears once again threatened her composure, this time she _embraced it all_ , accepting it for what it was. Torment became serenity. And control followed, with unsettling ease. Someone had sharpened that blade. The Tesseract had sharpened her mind.

She teleported out of his restraints and into his face, three inches from it - or rather, where it would be once he stood up from where she'd been. It was easy. She knew exactly what brain wires to cross and cut now, to relocate herself almost effortlessly. And she was _pissed off_. Loki could still freaking control her, with just as much precision as before! As he turned his head her way she reached up, grabbed his coat and, in a completely illogical act of anger, was very close to punching him in the face... but stopped herself. He continued to grin, leveled his gaze at her new location, and made no effort to remove her from his personal space.

She let go of him suddenly, relaxing and unclenching both fists. She stared blankly at his chest for a moment. She put her hands there and looked at them, suddenly just wanting to touch him; fascinated by the feel of his power. Her meek voice took on a calm, serene cadence that caught even her off-guard. "I... _know_ now." She suddenly looked up at him again. "I know why you did it. I know... it could have killed me. And what the others really meant by it 'showing' them things... I know a part of myself that's been missing for so long; created such an imbalance," she glanced away from him as her mind assembled a new concept from the chaos. "... and I know what to do with it."

He carefully pried her hands away, instead enclosing them in his own - slightly shaky - fingers. He didn't seem focused; seemed exhausted. But his eyes gleamed with pride. "Good," he purred.

His glow was gone completely now. It had taken him every speck of focus and energy he had to do that. He'd kept her there, altering an entire body's worth of matter, and acted as both conduit and filter for the Tesseract, an object much more powerful than he, and older than time itself... His eyes narrowed at her. Then they focused inward, his face took on a sickened pallor, and all at once he collapsed to the floor.

"Loki!" She followed him down. She knew that to drain himself of energy weakened him, but not like this. She had no idea how to help him. Using every ounce of her own strength, she pushed him onto his back from his crumpled position. She looked into his eyes. He was awake and breathing, but he cringed, from some unknown discomfort. "Why did you do this?"

He smiled weakly. "Are you not... happy... like this?"

She thought for a minute. "I... do feel rather invincible." She blushed, hardly able to believe she'd just said that. Then a flash of fear, unexpected for the thought that had crossed her mind. "But don't leave me! I didn't want this! I - " She choked. "You're - "

"I love you too, pet," he interrupted softly. He was sincere! And his tone was comforting, reassuring. It said as well, 'everything will be okay'. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness.

She panicked. She just... couldn't lose him. It didn't matter why. An honorary Asgardian, her first thought was to call the guards. But she wasn't sure how they'd react to the scene. Not the most open-minded of the Aesir. And though her rage was under control, her capacity for killing was there all the same. She felt little remorse for those who'd attacked her thus far. But she also didn't want to provoke anyone into making her do it again.

She could at least get him somewhere more comfortable. But he was far too heavy to move. She curled her hand over her mouth in a moment of contemplation, and decided to try to move him the _other_ way. It would be more difficult than anything she'd tried before... She put both her hands on his, drew the power from Asgard itself, and concentrated hard on getting him to the bed. She almost fell backwards off the edge. She'd half-expected it not to work, and wasn't entirely prepared for the soft surface. Plus now she was feeling a bit weak. He was in the same position in front of her, undisturbed. So she covered him up, and gently repositioned the pillow under his head. Pointless concerns and habits of humanity. Ones that she may never break. She knew all too well how indestructible he really was.

Seeing him so helpless was beyond disturbing. She had to avert her eyes. She tore herself away and left his chambers. Still reeling a bit, she didn't even notice someone following her down the hallway, not until his hand was on her shoulder. Perceiving a threat, she teleported them both to the top of the tallest building she'd been to thus far. They were in the same position, but on the side that put him on its edge. While he looked over his shoulder and took in the scenery - a sheer drop onto some wave-beaten rocks - she jerked free and drew a dagger. But he turned back quickly, and immediately drew his sword. It was only a guard. He eyed her with uncertainty. "Your Majesty..."

With expert speed she put the blade away, hoping he hadn't seen it at all. "I - um - sorry about that." It was all she could think of to say. She held out her hand, but she had to order him to take it. "This is someone's home," she explained kindly. "Let's get down from here the fast way." He looked over the edge again. She smiled. "Not that one."

Even back in the Hall, he refused to lower his weapon. "Your Majesty, I am under orders to bring you to the king upon sight. You are unwell. Please come with me."

Nobody called off the dogs, she thought. "I am _not_ unwell. The king is no longer searching for me. He wishes to remain undisturbed in his chambers." She willed herself past him, nonchalantly continuing on her path. Her words echoed down the hall as she left. "And do not sneak up on your queen. It's not good for your health."

She'd check in on Loki herself, frequently, until he regained his strength. In the meantime - she thought with a devious grin - she'd simply have to give in to the _powerfully_ irresistible urge to play with what seemed like mere toys now: space, energy and matter.

It wasn't until several hours later that she appeared by the bed again to see him sitting on the edge this time, hands at his sides for stability, staring wistfully into his own mind.

She was still shivering violently, and clutching the cloak - though Jotunheim had already frozen it to her body. But she rushed to his side, relieved, and knelt down before him. Now that he was awake and well she found herself reluctant to touch him. But his eyes snapped to her, and once they took in her whole form, his grin was so wide and sudden that it made her forget her words.

"How does it taste, pet?" he asked, with such a passion... "True power. _Intoxicating_ , is it not?"

She'd never known his power before. There was no visual of it, but it was there; she could see it in her head, effortlessly now. Disturbingly strong. As she went to place her hand on his, she hesitated.

He laughed aloud as he watched, and spoke ardently again. "I am no threat to you now." He lifted that hand to smooth back her windblown hair. "Well, perhaps some. Tell me, little mortal, what will you do with the power I have given you?"

"I want to fix things." No hesitation there. She'd thought of little else since gaining it. "The way my kind are treated is wrong. The way that those in power handle supernatural things is wrong. Anywhere this way of thinking exists, I want to destroy it; and show them a better way." She stood up. It was then that she noticed Loki had been watching her extra carefully. He was trying not to be obvious about it. But though he was still overall much stronger... she actually made him uneasy! He probably wasn't used to not knowing everything, she mused. But he certainly seemed happy about it. Why risk it? What was he planning to do?

She took a step back. "Why'd you really do this, Loki? What do _you_ want?"

"Only the same as you, pet. Justice." She peered at him, the silence broken only by the icy crackle the cloak made as she pried it off. She pulled up a chair, and his gaze shifted downward. "However, your kind are infamously averted to change," he added pointedly.

"They're _not_ my kind," she snapped.

He clasped his hands together and stared. He empathized completely. He lowered his head. "You're ashamed of them."

"I'm ashamed to have come from them." She sighed, and changed the subject. "Justice. Coming from you, My King, that's a dangerous word." His expression said he was hurt by her comment. But his eyes were grinning at it. She grinned back. "By all means, elaborate."

"I would give you Midgard." She folded her arms and waited. He looked down, suddenly unsure of himself. "But... I would require your assistance."

Her eyes widened. She understood now better than ever what Coulson had feared... but she only wanted revenge on the people who'd hurt her... not all of humanity. Loki had to know that. Could he - did he have the power to touch her, keep her here, _and_ change her mind about that? If he could do it from afar...

He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled her whole body away. Her chair slid back across the floor a bit from the force, and she had to resist the urge to disappear entirely. He raised an eyebrow and pressed his lips together for a moment. His tone became noticeably more commanding. "We will take from them all that they abuse, and unite them under one rule. Their nature makes this the only way to ensure that - " He searched for the correct term. "- mortals of your ilk, are never mistreated again." He rose from the bed - putting both of those dangerous hands behind his back. He made up for the blunder with a devilishly charming smile and positively silky timbre. "My fierce, and lovely queen. If I may ask... what are you now?"

She considered it carefully as she watched him pace the room. Then she smiled to herself. "Well... what they called me was GR 4372." She nodded in acceptance. "I guess _that's_ what I am. It's who I am. It's a good moniker." He gave her a puzzled look as he paced by. She stood up - turning slightly to keep an eye on him - and explained. "If your plan is successful, it'll be the only name they know. That way, when they speak of me, they'll never forget _why_. The... heinously flawed, bureaucratic logic which burned their world, and the enlightened one that rose from its ashes." Her smile became more of a smirk. From an agent of SHIELD, to an agent of _change_.

Before she could react he caught her arm. Instantly she thought to get away - but she was a fly in a spider's web, bound to this one place by his touch. From somewhere not far behind, he pulled her into him. His right hand wrapped around her waist, his left firmly around her right arm, holding her there. In a low, cautionary tone, he said, "Have care how you speak, pet." He held her tighter, his skin turning blue as she squirmed. "I do not wish to take you again before you are ready."

She stopped struggling and breathed. He... loved her, this way! She turned her head and processed all of that for a minute. He looked down at her and slowly, teasingly moved his long fingers off of her right arm, only to continue across and over the exposed skin of each breast. Then they ran up to her collarbone, and slid around her neck. After deliberating on it off-and-on for days, she figured that this moment, while stuck in one of his more forceful holds, was the best time to decide on such a tender subject... She _would_ be willing to let him again... whether it meant a jotun child - _any_ child - or not.

When he felt her relax - trusting, and giving in to him - he allowed her to free herself. She took the opportunity. But instead of fleeing, she turned, and let him continue to touch as he pleased. She reached up and tentatively stroked his face, curiously tracing a marking. He was aware that his markings resembled her people's scars, and he always made a point not to step away while she did that, to show that it caused no discomfort... though it was certainly something he wasn't accustomed to. "I'm not..." she clarified. Then she stood on her toes, ran her fingers through his hair and whispered. "But... I will be, My King."

They both froze, and locked eyes for a moment. She could leave now, she suddenly realized. Escape his surprisingly gentle caresses to continue to explore and test her power, as the scientist part of her brain demanded she do. But she was much more excited about a tertiary prospect: using it to do something good; something _no one but they_ could accomplish.

Loki was more than happy to oblige her with that as well. They ended up spending the entire night and part of the morning discussing, studying... perfecting his plan, interrupted only by the occasional kiss or loving touch. Ingenious, flawless, and truly beautiful in its simplicity; they created a feasibly-victimless means to attain their common goal.


	25. Something Wicked This Way Comes

"As your king, I have sworn to keep my past with Midgard well out of my decisions... especially those on which the peace between our realms balances so precariously." Loki paced pensively in front of his well-earned throne in full battle armor, poised, collected. He addressed his war council, along with every member of the court, and as many high-status citizens and soldiers as could comfortably fit in the hall. Sara stood - reluctantly - at the far end of the second step down. It was customarily the queen's place, but was not to be called 'her place', lest he incur the mortal's lively verbal wrath. Outwardly, her expression was sullen. But he could see her inner battle with a fear of large crowds. Though she insisted it was not a true fear, being the silent subject of attention, in front of so many, was surely wearing on her nerves.

"I have even come to love one of its denizens..." He approached her carefully and took her hand. "... with all of my heart." He smiled down at her briefly, then raised his head high. "But our trust of the humans has proven unwise. Your queen, so pure and innocent amongst her kind, did return to her homeworld. There she was captured, examined, interrogated... and treated so cruelly, that -" His voice to broke just slightly and he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly in anger. " - that it took the life of the unborn princess." Whispers, gasps, and interjections of pity, outrage and disbelief came from all directions. These were the people who hadn't already heard. Amongst them, even her friends.

Her eyes welled up at the memory. He'd chosen his words carefully, so as to minimize the amount of emotion she would need to portray. An actress she was not, but she needed only to let go of her habit of concealing everything to perform her part quite well. She let the tears fall freely for all to see. Behind them, an expression of strength and dignity. He stepped down to her level and put his arm around her comfortingly, protectively, but still facing out toward his subjects.

When she found herself unable to stop the tears, he gently pressed her head to his chest, smoothing down a few stray locks of hair in the process. She would accept his warmth, no matter who saw it and why. From under his arm she scanned the crowd, a fire in her eyes, adding impact to every word he said.

His head hung low in earnest grief, even as he began again. "All of Midgard's more... extraordinary individuals are treated this way. Countless many _remain_ imprisoned, under the assumption that they will 'pose a threat'," he explained with a hint of mockery in his darkened tone."Their champions - for all their dauntless efforts to defend the innocent- are kept blind to these injustices, by their own rulers. And if, through the web of lies, one does see the error of their ways, of course they're promptly silenced."

He moved his hand to her shoulder and gave her a slight squeeze, before turning away. She wiped the tears from her face and he strode back to center stage, speaking with renewed urgency. "Midgard is not ready for its own evolution, much less the rare objects of power it now possesses. Of all the good they could have done with the Tesseract, they would have made of it weapons. Weapons! While they continue to slaughter eachother and their planet suffers, beaten to within an inch of its life." He spied several nods of agreement amongst the more well-traveled aesir.

He glanced her way once more with a look of concern, but she'd managed to dry her eyes already. She'd never been comfortable showing such weakness, particularly for them. He extended an arm towards her. "Really there is no finer example of this, than what they have done to my beloved." He shook his head slowly, frustrated. "Midgard is in dire need of reform. Precedents indicate that any actions toward it would be met with violent resistance. However, even they were _so obstinate_ as to insist upon losing lives for it, I believe this would only unite them, force them to form alliances in order to fight the much greater imagined hostility." He stopped in front of the throne, and gracefully took his seat. "Either way... I will not have my queen sit idly by and watch her people suffer for a moment more." He closed his eyes, as if reconsidering what he was about to say. "And so, it is with a heavy heart, that I must ask Asgard to go to war."

He leaned back and propped an elbow up on one side, draping his hand over his mouth, a cold, contemplative expression on his face.

Bolder whispering and a general sense of shock emanated from all present, and the majority of attention was redirected from the increasingly nervous human to the group of old, battle-worn soldiers, generals and guardians positioned closest to the throne. They spoke amongst themselves for a few minutes, and even the most stoic of soldiers seemed unable to hide his anticipation. Then, the labored steps of a heavily-armored, very elderly oss towards the throne silenced them all.

He was understandably exempt from the kneeling part of the royal salute. "My Liege. It would be an honor to lead our warriors, in any battle which would avenge the heir to the throne-" 

"Vengeance, good Ullr, is not my purpose," he corrected patiently. "Only suppression. My wish is that no lives be taken for this endeavor." He eyed him sideways to properly convey the seriousness of that unconventional request.

The general was taken aback. He looked down for a moment, but continued. "In the name of justice, then..." He paused for the king's reaction. It was a kindly smile; only his eyes betrayed his inner pain. It inspired Ullr to speak with more volume and conviction. "Our resounding victory shall serve as an example of Asgard's intolerance for the suffering of innocents."

As the last word left his lips, his ever-loyal warriors made their approval known in a raucous cheer which steadily ascended to fill the room.

An innocent-looking smile crept slowly across his mortal's thin, pale lips as she watched. It was one of modesty, kindness and appreciation. With a few discreet glances he made certain that only he could see the darkness behind that fragile mask. He watched her carefully, fully prepared to remove her from present company if need be. She'd seen much in her short life. But that incredibly strong will of hers had broken before, and would again. Each time it did, he'd ensure that it would cleave in precisely the directions he needed it to. He was carving his perfect queen.

She had some apprehensions of course. They would have to sever _all_ inhabitants of her world from their current lifestyles, rather violently. But no great change comes without doubt. And the righteousness of giving life to the world which would rise from the ashes had a healing effect on her, to say the least.

He reassumed a more regal posture, and studied his elders. They whispered again, even as they applauded their own decision. He parted his lips momentarily, but then he looked away, soaking up the sounds of praise. When he looked back he wore a victorious grin. He'd all but won his prize.

Elodie walked quickly down the dimly-lit street, inexplicably late to work. She was _never_ late to work, not for Mr. Stark. He was a bit of a celebrity. He paid a fair wage, and kept his hands to himself... it was the best job she'd ever had. The only thing more she could possibly ask for was that the man learn just a bit more French.

Her body type and her uniform - though nothing she wasn't used to - made her a bit of a target. A terribly cliché one. But still she risked the route with the long, dark alleyway to get there faster. She just couldn't go back to hotel work again. She made it through unscathed, and looked at her phone. She still would be three minutes late! She ignored the night guard's odd look, bolted across the lobby and frantically entered her code, clocking in and gaining access to Stark Tower.

The elevator ride took forever. When it finally stopped at the main floor - with all the lavish guest rooms, bars and living areas - she put extra effort into crossing its foyer quietly, in the hopes that no one would notice. She paused a moment to look at her reflection in a large piece of mirrored artwork. She adjusted herself and pulled down the frills on her low-cut top a bit. If any of the men were still awake, she might need her looks to help her out of this one.

She calmly started with the lounge, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Not that there really was much of an 'ordinary', day or night, in this place. She sighed quietly. Mr. Banner was sleeping on the couch again. She'd save that area for last, just in case her cleaning woke him up. She wasn't sure if he even had a room, as often as she found him in this same exact spot.

Suddenly, something in the corner of the room caught her attention. It was just one of the cameras. But she found herself drawn to it, and silently moving towards it. There was some sort of insect on the lens. She tried to brush it off with her broom. Of course it was dead, and stuck. So she fetched the stool, pulled a small metal scraping tool out of her apron and began to scrape it off instead. But her slender arms were weak, already shaking from having to reach so high for so long, and in the next pass she applied too much pressure. It scratched the lens. Bon sang! Immediately JARVIS sounded the alarm. She was right next to a speaker, and it was so loud it made her fall off the stool to the floor.

She scrambled to her feet, only to see a slightly-sleepy Mr. Barton. He was aiming an arrow at her head! Terrified, she screamed, which brought all the other patrons of the tower out and into the room. Mr. Stark walked slowly, slurring his speech through the hand plastered over his face. "JAR - " He cleared his throat. "JARVS, shut - " But his voice failed him again. Wide-eyed, she watched him lift his face and squint to inspect the damage she'd done.

Mr. Barton's expression softened, and he laughed more loudly than usual. "JARVIS, It seems I drank Stark under the table a few hours ago. I don't suppose he's authorized any of us to disable the alarms yet..."

"Apologies, Mr. Barton, but Mr. Stark's voice imprint is still required."

"Greeaaat," he replied, and started - somewhat aggressively - across the room towards him. But her employer was already on the move. He stumbled into the darkened bar in the corner, opened a random liquor cabinet and pulled out several bottles. She rushed over to help with whatever he was doing by turning that light on for him. They didn't come on automatically after ten. He turned his head, smiled and winked at her. Then he opened a panel embedded into the back of the cabinet and keyed in a code: 434633755. The alarms stopped. But the number, for some reason, resonated in her head.

She shook it off. "Monsieur Stark, je suis _tellement_ désolé! Je ne vou -"

"Whoa, wh- whoa, honey... s'okay! Erybody makes mistakes."

She didn't understand any of that. She glanced around. Mr. Stark grinned... Mr. Barton rolled his eyes slightly... Mr. Banner was just now sitting up on the sofa... and no Mr. Rogers tonight. Mr. Rogers was very kind, and spoke her language, if only a little bit. But nobody there seemed particularly angry.

Mr. Banner rubbed his eyes. "What happened?"

She definitely knew that phrase. She tried to explain, but he held up his hand. "Sorry, Miss..."

"Elodie." Mr. Stark had actually remembered her name!

Mr. Barton furrowed his brow at him. "Really, Stark? A French maid?"

Suddenly, out of a dark hallway, a woman's voice. "Personne ne est en colère contre vous, Elodie. Nous sommes seulement curieux de savoir comment ce est arrivé." It was Ms. Romanov. She pointed lazily at the camera as she came in through one of the hallways.

Oh, thank god! Despite the heavy Russian accent, she was relieved to have understood it all. Usually having a night job meant she wouldn't have to worry about it this much. She explained everything - a little too thoroughly, perhaps. But Ms. Romanov listened, and seemed to understand and translate, no matter how quickly and nervously she spoke.

When she'd finished, she looked around. No one was talking to her anymore. So she took the opportunity to rush off; to go and clean another room... extra thoroughly, to make up for what she'd done. She thanked Ms. Romanov as she passed, who gave a cordial nod in response.

"I'm guessing Pepper wasn't part of _that_ hiring process," Natasha commented after the supermodel had left the room.

"Honestly, I didn't think she was even gonna apply," Tony snickered, feeling no need to apologize for helping out a young single woman who just happened to be drop-dead gorgeous.

Clint put his weapon away, moved to the camera, and frowned as he inspected it more closely. "Strange..." Then he looked at the floor all around it. "I don't see a bug."

When she'd finished with all the normal tasks, Elodie scanned the room. It had been a while since she'd given Mr. Stark's sleek multi-system computer setup a good dusting. Or rather, cleaning, she decided, upon seeing the bright yellow and orange crumbs in every crevasse of a keyboard. When it was all nice and shiny again, she felt strangely compelled to dig around in her apron pocket for something else, not even quite sure what that might be. She grasped all the familiar things - keys, phone, tools and such - then she froze, her fingers wrapped around an unfamiliar one. She pulled it out. A plain black flash drive. She looked at it curiously for a moment. She must have accidentally picked it up in one of the other computer-y rooms. She dropped it on the desk like it was on fire, and quickly moved away. The last thing she needed now was to be accused of stealing property.

Loki chuckled to himself as he withdrew from the simple mortal's mind. The trail of known targets had led him to the perfect one indeed. Moreso than he could have asked for. He could complete all the remaining preparations using only this one as his personal puppet. He'd use her to watch the would-be heroes later on, as well. Watch, and wait. Likely not for long.

The next morning, Tony was shocked to find his entire workshop's contents looking almost brand new. Then he remembered that that particular maid, lacking in communication skills, tended to overcompensate. Nice, though. The greasy junk food smell was gone. He plopped down into his comfy leather chair, nursing a headache and an iced ginger ale. But his eyes were quickly drawn to something that was _not_ supposed to be there. A flash drive... someone else's.

He picked it up and turned it over in his nimble fingers for a moment. Then, against his better judgement, he plugged it in to his least-favorite system. Each one was isolated. If it was a virus or something, it couldn't do too much damage. And he just had to know what it was.

He recognized several SHIELD files... qualifying this now, officially, as suspicious. But as he scanned the text in each one, he realized that they all pertained to one person. She had a photo ID badge, an agent number, and a second one at the top of certain report pages; a type he didn't recognize. But no name. Somewhat disturbingly, she was only ever referred to as "the subject" or "the patient". Then he found a very interesting transcript: One of her debriefings... post-dirty-weekend _with Loki_.

He powered up the entire network, and began his own search. Zeroed. What were they hiding now? There was no evidence of her existence on record anywhere. No official evidence, that is. Turns out he wasn't the only one looking. A few blogs and social networking pages, as well as the latest website hosting the more well-known independent group Rising Tide, had been circulating a candid photo of her - pregnant, no less - and publicly accusing SHIELD of everything from imprisoning to killing her - things they were, apparently, suspected of often. There was a long list of people who'd simply vanished after being contacted... this one had just become the poster child. All postings regarding this, no matter how brief, contained the same title-slash-catch-phrase: "Who Knew 4372?".

He had JARVIS transfer the files to the main room, grabbed the headset that was currently connected to the house-wide speakers, and said in his best airport announcer voice, "Avengers, party of six to the lounge please. Informal Avengers meeting in the lounge." Let's see what the others make of this, he thought.

"Holy - !" Bruce censored himself, as he reread the complex biological portion of the classified profile. "Tony, she's not just gifted. She's dangerous." He pointed at the image. "With this level of power..." He shook his head. "People like her don't usually keep to themselves."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You mean... people like you."

Bruce pressed his lips together, smiled slightly and nodded, looking down. He had a point.

"All the more reason to hide her away," he added. "Question is, how many more like her are just... snatched away, under-the-radar, and locked up? And how many actually deserve to be?"

"Sounds like more of a witch hunt." Steve Rogers had, at some point, returned from wherever Steve Rogers goes every once in a while, looking wrong as ever in his street hoodie and blond 40's hair.

"And what happened to her baby?" Natasha enlarged a photo for all to see. "Here's her initial profile pic..." She cast it away and brought up another. "and in this one, she's obviously... _very_ pregnant."

Clint raised his hand as if he were in a classroom, until he had their attention. "Not trying to say it isn't suspicious. But personally, I'd like to hear SHIELD's version of the story, before we assume too much." He eyed everyone from under his brow, waiting for someone to counter his defense of the top-secret boy band of bureaucrats.

Tony stopped mid-sip and pointed at him suddenly from across the room. "That... is fantastic idea Robin Hood. Who wants to call Big Brother?"

And so the inquisition began. Never one to leave well enough alone, Tony pursued the subject, and dug for information. He harassed every high-ranking member of SHIELD he could find, until he - and everyone - knew the whole story. The story of 4372 and the 'gifteds'.

Sara stared in awe at the chiseled fjordic strata and complex oceanic topography that Asgard had so generously revealed to her, upon gaining the right perspective. She was just a few miles outside the city, but the most breathtaking view of everything could be had from the top of this tree, which stood about fifteen feet higher than the rest of the forest canopy. As a child, she'd loved this sort of thing; trying to climb as high as she could. But it had somehow lost its charm, now that there were no limits. Well... one. She'd learned the hard way that failure to appear on or near a branch meant a very long fall just the same, one which her ability _would_ _not_ save her from. Velocity remained, no matter what point in space it was happening in.

Her perspective abruptly turned further inward when she began to feel quite strongly that she needed to be with Loki. It seemed to be no more than a gut feeling, and she wanted to stay and enjoy the spectacular sunset from this place. But her mind wouldn't shut up about it. 'Go to Loki,' it urged, without words. There were really only a few places he might be this time of day. So she sighed, and randomly chose one. And was right on the first guess. His throne. No audience; no one to show off for. But he held that commanding presence, even in less-than-formal attire. He wore his black leathers this time - her favorite Loki look - and her appearance didn't interrupt his musings at all. Almost as if he'd been expecting her.

Just as she was about to say something he looked up. "Tonight is the night, pet. Are you ready?"

"Always," she lied. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, partly from nervousness, partly from the multiple complex supernatural location jumps she'd just performed. Of course tonight's the night, she grumbled in her head. She'd been testing her limits all day. He gave her a chastising look, but she spoke before he could question her. "Did you - " She looked away and let out a slightly insane laugh. "Did you freaking _call me_ here?"

He raised his head, following her movements very closely as she ascended the steps to the throne, and said dryly, "You'll excuse my lack of enthusiasm for hunting mortals this day."

She smiled, and delicately took a seat on the throne's wide edge - on the side he was reclined against, specifically. He tried to hide a bit of a smirk behind his cold, 'unimpressed' expression. So she casually leaned over and placed one finger on his head. "Stay out of my head." His grin grew wide and he closed his eyes... mildly frustrated with her complete and total insolence, but charmed out of pointing it out.

"I know that you still have pains." He looked her up and down, always dead serious when it came to the plan. "Are you certain?"

"It isn't distracting enough to affect my concentration. And I have almost complete control now. Been training... well, pretty much nonstop, since the Tesseract..."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squinted slightly, searching the surface of her mind for something while she spoke. Then he grinned. "I know. But my wish is not to be forced to retrieve you again. These are no ordinary mortals that you face."

She glared at him. Every time he implied she had a habit of getting into trouble and needing to be rescued, it stabbed at her newfound self-confidence. She hated it. She knew _he knew_ she hated it. But he did it anyway. Motivation, perhaps - because if she were captured by either entity this time, it would mean the death of millions.

"I can do it. We have to strike _now_ , Loki. While SHIELD is still in a state of disarray."

He conceded with a slow nod. "Far be it for me to question the strength of Asgard's queen. But remember this: to them you are just another mortal. They would not hesitate to take your life as well."

Coulson's words came back with that statement. 'I can't guarantee you won't lose _your_ life in the process.' So nonchalant about what they'd done. It continued to stir up that anger even now.

Loki turned and bent forward slowly, somewhat awkwardly, to catch her now-distant gaze. A few stray locks of hair fell over his eyes as he delved into hers.

"Your rage is simply beautiful, Sara," he serenaded her with his deep, soothing voice. "I have seen it in you since the very day we met. Raw, pure, and so untouched. Buried deep beneath the soil of your humanity. But now..." He ran his hand down the side of her face, and she found herself unable to do anything but shyly look away. "The Tesseract has made that diamond shine."

For most of that night, he knew he wouldn't convince her to stop moving around entirely. But he did find her in the feasting hall, in the gardens - in repose, as suggested, to his relief. He checked on the inhabitants of the tower periodically, even consulting Heimdall to be sure his visions were not somehow altered by the mortal perspective. Meanwhile he summoned his generals, made certain they understood every detail, and ordered all weapons and soldiers readied for the siege. Finally, in the dead of night, he went to fetch his finest weapon. She was on the balcony, her mind in perfect calm, like the waters she admired from afar. Before he could even announce his presence, she turned to him, a quiet fury in her eyes. She said quite simply, "Let's do this."


	26. The Finest Weapons

Sara appeared, rather dramatically, near the edge of a high cliff, Appalachian Mountains, about fifty miles from New York City. She'd taken a knee while she was concentrating on the task in Asgard - partly because she knew she'd be exhausted upon arrival, and partly because of one of the many lessons learned from experience: just because you're familiar with the topography of an area, that doesn't mean something small, unaccounted-for and unexpected wouldn't catch you off your guard. A fallen tree. A sinkhole. Snow. Or simply the changing of a surface over time. The Tesseract had given her the latest facts about the physical universe, but there were no updates available for that information.

Precision was easy if she had a good mental image of the place she was going. But with the way her heart was pounding and her mind reeling from it now, if she _had_ fallen, she might not have gotten back up for a while.  
  
She slowly peeled her hands off of the huge device in front of her, kind-of afraid to detach from it. It was almost as tall as her, and had taken almost all she had to get it there. She stood and inspected it carefully, just in case... She had yet to teleport a fraction of an item by accident, but she'd also known the subjects of those experiments very well.  
  
The device - whose name she couldn't remember for anything - certainly seemed to be no more than a big set of concentric, thin metal rings. Rings within rings, all suspended between three strong arms, arcing halfway up and around them from its heavy metal base. Ornate and golden, like everything in Asgard.  
  
Loki - who had inexplicable knowledge of these things - had assured her that despite not knowing its inner workings, it would arrive and function properly. _However_ , if it didn't, her anonymity was to take precedence. She must abandon it at the first sign of trouble.  
  
The spot she'd chosen offered a clear - and positively spectacular - view of the forested, light-speckled hillsides, and was more than enough distance from any SHIELD facility to guarantee that they couldn't react to her arrival too quickly, if she were somehow detected. But this fact only applied to the non-mobile units. After her last visit, she'd vowed never to underestimate any of those bastards again.  
  
She refocused. None of this was going to be easy.  
  
She pulled a long strip of thin black cloth from her cloak and wrapped it around her face, covering everything below her eyes. Beneath the cloak she wore a whole new set of armor, all black, and her unique hair color was in several complex braids tightly bound to her head. She pulled the hood over it, obscuring it all completely. Protective measures for the chance she could be seen. She placed her hands on the device again. She acknowledged and then quieted all those worries, focusing entirely on the one place in Stark Tower that she'd ever paid close attention to: the decadent main lounge area on the top floor, complete with bar. It was much easier to summon all of her rage against SHIELD now that she was on the same planet as them again. There was some fear there too. She remembered their actions; a dark, feral part of her desiring nothing more than to see Coulson suffer the tortures of Loki instead. ' _Priorities, Doctor. That's an order_.'  
  
She was in the entryway to the lounge, just outside the elevator doors - the exact same spot she'd been standing in when she'd first met Tony Stark. All parts of the device had made it, too. She lowered her head for just a second. She had to turn the rage off - for now. She brushed a tear away before it could reach the fabric, and looked around. Then she made her way - stealthily - towards the bar, focusing instead on the awesome level of precision she'd just performed using only a slightly Loki-enhanced old memory for reference. Right away she could see the liquor cabinet he'd described. She was beginning to truly enjoy this power.

She took her time, making silence and observance her first priority. She listened for the stirrings of insomniacs... a common feature in hero-types. This whole plan could be derailed by one of two things: if she were forced to abandon the device, or if her identity were somehow discovered. And then... well, all the secondary plans involved a bit of genocide.

It was her job to make that unnecessary.  
  
She removed a few bottles of expensive-looking alcohol from the cabinet. Sure enough, the panel was there. She moved two more just to eliminate the risk of bumping them together. Then she carefully keyed in the code she'd written on her hand. She wasn't good at remembering numbers.

She looked back, spotting every camera in the adjacent rooms. The tiny red lights all went off at once. She was safe. Stark cycled through so many employees - mostly because of his attitude and a few sexual harassment lawsuits - that he'd stopped programming JARVIS to recognize them. A chink in the armor; a hole in his defenses. One he thought would never be a problem. Now, JARVIS would probably only set off the alarms and turn them back on once the foreign technology was activated. By then she'd be all but gone.  
  
She turned around and started back across the darkened room. But about halfway there she stopped dead in her tracks. It was so dark that she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was a shadow... or a person. If it was a person, they'd be moving to intercept her about now, she figured. But she crept along the nearest wall just in case. When she was about twenty feet away, she froze completely, stifling a gasp. Damn it!  
  
The humanoid figure had moved, and was now standing directly behind the device. She had no weapons; they hadn't wanted to risk Thor recognizing Loki's work. She couldn't talk her way out of anything; if she spoke someone would recognize her voice. There was no consolation prize, no second-best course of action to take. This was strictly a pass/fail mission. Failure was being forced to abort it entirely.  
  
It was a tall, muscular male form, his arms folded across his chest. But he stood still, silently observing... he didn't consider her a real threat. She had no idea how long he'd been watching her.  
  
He nodded slightly. "Evening, ma'am," said Steve Rogers. "Please say you're one of Stark's _very close_ friends... one that none of us knows about. Otherwise, I'm gonna need to know how you got that code." She backed away from him slowly. He was blocking the doorway as well. To the best of her knowledge, there was no other way out. He advanced on her calmly, always prepared for a confrontation, but his shield was on his back. She supposed she didn't look like much of a challenge. Then, the distinct sound of a bowstring being drawn taught, not thirty feet away at her six. She whipped around to see Barton of course, the intense expression at the end of his arrow partly lit by a beam of light coming through the window. Suddenly her wrist was seized and pulled back at an angle, forcing her to turn around with it. It was a good thing Loki had thought to give her a salve to dull the pain. She was barely able to resist crying out. And that was a sound that any Hydra/SHIELD double agent who'd seen their security footage would definitely recognize.  
  
She did her best to bore a hole through him with her eyes. He wasn't fazed. He furrowed his brow, trying to figure her out, while she tried at different angles to yank her arm away. He was too observant. It made her way more uncomfortable than she should be. He reacted incredulously to every small wince each time she tried. She was pretty sure it was the only reason why he hadn't done more to stop her. He turned her arm over effortlessly and looked at her palm where the number was. Evidence that she wasn't familiar with the code.  
  
"How did you get this?" She tried to pry his fingers off, to no effect. "How did you _get in here_ to use it?"  
  
In one fluid motion she twisted both their wrists outward, grabbed her own fist with the other hand and pushed it forward... backwards for him, in a very bad way. She knew he had super-strength. But the move was sudden, and put her whole body weight on just his thumb. This is where even the strongest human's hand would give way - or release voluntarily; the only way to stop the pain from the wrenching of their whole arm in all the directions it doesn't bend. He let out a sharp breath through his teeth, more out of frustration than pain, and grabbed for the newly-added arm. She jerked it down and out of his reach again. But he was too fast. He caught it, and moved behind her, her flexibility the only thing saving her from the usual results of having both arms relocated to one's back over their head. He pinned them together. She might as well be cuffed, she realized. She was officially screwed. She'd been in this position before. But the big difference there was that none of those attackers were willing to injure her too much. She'd just broken in to Stark Tower. That was the least of her worries.  
  
Putting everything she had into controlling her instinct to poof the fuck out of there, she appeased that base need to escape, struggling hard against his grip instead and trying to knock him back at the same time. His hands remained, but he did take a few steps back, mostly to get into a better stance for it. Looking around for anything to get a little more creative with, she noticed two things: that Barton didn't seem to share the Cap's assessment that she wasn't a threat. And that they were only a few feet from the device. There was still hope for reaching it... but she wouldn't make the attempt just yet. She needed to get him to move back again, just a few feet more.  
  
The scuffle brought Romanov and Banner into the room. She stopped fighting, saving her strength for the one move that would end this bullshit. The one she hadn't figured out yet. But her pounding heart and already-rapid breaths still increased in intensity with that damned, familiar kind of panic. She retreated into her own mind to kill it. She wasn't really trapped, she told herself. Just pressed for options.  
  
Then Thor sauntered in, hammer-in-hand.  
  
Fuck! If anyone was going to recognize anything about her or the device, it was him.  
  
Her fear was now quite audible, as her breaths sifted through the cloth over her nose and mouth. Rogers loosened his grip a little and leaned over to peer at her from the side, putting as much distance between them as possible. All of a sudden there was a look of confusion and concern in his eyes. "She's no hardened criminal," he informed Barton. "Who do you work for?"  
  
At that, Barton lowered his weapon and made for the large piece of technology she'd brought with her. He inspected it closely, without touching it, and concluded, "Well, it's definitely not a bomb..."  
  
She closed her eyes, her thoughts racing, desperately trying to stop the panic and come up with a way to do this at the same time. She couldn't just abandon it all. She couldn't abandon her people!  
  
Rogers released her arms, but spun her around by her shoulders instead, incredibly fast. She almost tripped over her own feet. She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, glaring obstinately at nothing in particular. This seemed to bother him, that she couldn't be reached for questioning. "Hey!" When she didn't react, he shook her a few times, bringing her focus back to him. "We can help you. Protect you. Who's making you do this?" She struggled to free her shoulders, which only forced him to hold them tighter. She gave up on that as well.     
  
Her fiery eyes darted back to Barton as he approached. He squinted at her in response. "Try to remove her mask, Cap," he challenged, almost playfully.  
  
No. If only they knew what they were doing...  
  
Rogers glanced at Barton, then looked down, considering it. He locked his kind, empathetic blue eyes back onto her. Even while refusing them direct contact, she could see that they were begging her to cooperate. "Look, we don't want to hurt you. But a complete breach of security here is not something we take lightly. Who are you?" He jerked his head towards the device. "And what in the world is this?" That got Thor's attention. He started towards it, squinting intently through the dark. She was about to run out of time.  
  
She would just have to cover up some more injuries. She closed her eyes again and shut off all her muscles, the dead weight catching Rogers by surprise. Not wanting to harm her further, he let her go. She fell to the floor, her entire body hitting hard, including her head. But it worked. Instead of focusing on the device, everyone rushed over to where she was, and the Captain knelt down to check for a pulse. But she was now in the perfect position to strike. She opened her eyes, only to aim her pointed toes at the spot on the thick disc of a base where the sensor was.  
  
Suspended in frictionless motion, all the rings began to spin in different directions, gaining speed, and generating a slight whirring sound. Romanov was the first to reach it, running her hand over that same spot, her eyes darting all over its surfaces. She and Banner used all their knowledge and skills to try to find a way to make it stop. And now, the Captain looked angry. Technically-challenged, he focused back on her and immediately pinned her hands together again, pressing them into her stomach. She stared, defiantly, a bit of a satisfied smirk in her eyes. The whirring gradually became more of a repeating, resonating whoosh, a massive amount of air being displaced with each swing of the outermost ring. At the center of it all, a ball of golden light, growing, brightening, and constructing a spherical force field around itself. She watched as the last hole in it shrank, and disappeared. It was now indestructible.  
  
Rogers used her wrists to lift her to her feet. Then he grabbed her cloak instead and pulled her in, raising his fist and wrapping the fabric around it tight to put pressure on her neck. It forced her to look up at him. Well-known intimidation factors. "Now I'm _also_ going to need to know what that thing is doing." He tipped his head to her. "You gave up a lot to turn it on. But for you, this conflict is over."  
  
She looked around. Everyone else except for Barton was focused on the device. Then she felt a tug on the thin fabric. She jerked her head away completely and grabbed that arm and hand, trying to pull it away from her face. Rogers paused and eyed her cautiously, like she might bite. He resorted to peeling it down from the upper edge, just under her temple. There was no stopping him. She prepared to TP out, permanently changing the rest of the plan.  
  
Just then, Tony himself came out from wherever he'd been heavily-sleeping. "Uh, guys..." He pointed out the huge window. They all rushed over to look out, and witnessed the creation of a translucent golden force field. It spread quickly, flowing out in uneven waves both up and down at once, having started at the floor they were all on. It reached the top of the tower first, where it sealed flat, making a cylindrical shape. Then, she knew, a few seconds later it reached the ground. Success.  
  
The event got Barton's attention, and even the Captain turned his head for a minute. But that was all she needed. A challenging move it was, but so much fun to practice too. She'd gotten good at it. It took literally two seconds to focus, jump up as hard as she could against his iron grip, lift her feet, and teleport about a foot below it, landing crouched on the floor. Almost the entire trick had been obscured by the cloak. She left it, running full-speed down one of the halls, turning into a large camera-free bedroom and disappearing mid-stride.  
  
She appeared back in the mountains, stumbled over a couple of things, and used the trunk of a very sticky tree to stop herself. Then she bent over, shaking, panting, and dropped to the forest floor. She rolled over on the orange carpet of pine needles. Her head was spinning, and she felt half-dead. But she wore a wide, proud grin. She grinned at Loki, peering deep into space through the clear, starry sky. Worth it!


	27. Seige

The soldier simply stared - dumbfounded - at the fistful of cloak he held, the intruder no longer in it. The rest of the team stared in a similar manner out the window, discussing amongst themselves - at varying levels of intensity and volume - what precisely had just transpired and what plan was best to execute against it. All except Thor, who'd immediately recognized the technology, and was in the process of calming the part of his mind which berated him incessantly for not recognizing its source. He turned and started toward Steve the Captain instead - at first with a powerful desire to confront the Asgardian intruder... and then to be certain that the motionless mortal was alright.  
  
He was halfway across the now-slightly-golden-hued room when Metal Man seized his arm. "Can't help but notice that _you_ haven't said much about this." Thor shook his hand off, reluctant to actually grab it - as he would in reaction to any other's unsolicited touch. There was always that small risk that he may injure him... and the man's health seemed to wax and wane with the tides. His father was right in that aspect. Illness did seem to be their defining feature.  
  
The normally non-confrontational Doctor Banner was by far the most distraught. As Lady Natasha and Barton the Hawk departed to search the tower for any sign or evidence of the intruder, his attention was redirected. He took a few steps towards them and pointed back out the window. "That looks an awful lot like a force field. And though I suppose it's a possibility, I highly doubt that someone would have broken in with the goal of keeping things _out_..." His kind, soft voice conveyed very little of the panic that his eyes did. They darted from one to the other. "Tell me there's a plan here. And what I can do to help it along."  
  
Metal Man - Tony - rolled his head back toward him indicatively, suggesting that he had the answer. So he gave them one. "I'm afraid there is nothing to be done." He resumed his pace, adding despondently, "We are trapped."  
  
Tony made his way over to the device, circled it once and squatted down to study every part of it, squinting, peering inside the sphere without touching it. A wise precaution. By then the Captain had dropped the cloak and boarded the elevator - presumably to go down and face the field itself. So he continued on, nonchalantly, and stopped on the opposite side of it... the small, modified generator. He ignored Tony's stares, focusing instead on the details; anything which would indicate what faction of Asgardians - or their enemies - might be responsible. But Tony rolled his eyes upwards in exaggerated thought, and interrupted him. "Now, if I had to pick _just one_ thing that's responsible for my well-deserved title of 'genius'..." Thor was careful to keep his expression neutral, though his vexation was growing within. "I'd have to say it's weapons technology. Current, historical... theoretical..." His eyes abruptly locked onto his. "But something tells me this glowy Tron-tech here is closer to your field of expertise than mine."  
  
"I would agree with your assessment," he granted. He stood up straight and folded his arms. "I cannot help but sense some... accusation, behind your words, friend." He let condescention seep into his. "What makes you so certain that this was not something stolen from Asgard by a mutual enemy?"  
  
He waved his hand at the embellished black cloak on the floor. "Nobody else dresses like that."  
  
He nodded his head to the side, accepting his weak and unconventional point. "This is why I must speak with the one who detained him." He followed the soldier's path. "You are welcome to accompany me if you wish," he stated without slowing. They both knew he'd be followed, or spied on by other means, welcomed or not.  
  
Steve the Captain stood warily, only inches from the golden grid, on the side which faced the street. The one he would have crossed to reach his motorcycle. He'd donned his mask along the way, and held his shield at the ready as well. Then suddenly he pulled it up in front of him, braced it with both arms, and applied his entire strength to the task of pushing it through the force field. His face contorted with the enormous effort, and his initial frustrated growl became more of a battle-cry. The field hissed and crackled, glowing more brightly around the shield. Though he couldn't see it through clenched eyes, it did bow out under the strain, perhaps an inch. But it would not give way. His yelling gained volume, then broke off when he finally allowed himself to be repelled, sapped of strength. Thor made no attempt to discourage him. His personality was such that no matter what was said, he would feel the need to try.  
  
Breathing heavily, he turned back and looked at them. Though clearly exhausted, he was tense with anger, and his eyes were wide with fear. Fear of being powerless, and therefore useless, as per his own perception. It was a feeling Thor knew well. He slapped his hand on the heaving man's shoulder and smiled. "A valiant effort, my friend. But it seems the perpetrator had your will and strength in mind while designing his cage." Steve lowered his brow and looked away.  
  
He casually motioned towards the field. "Tell me Captain; in what manner did our enemy deliver to us this fine challenge?"  
  
The Captain turned back and glared for a moment, but there was already a disarming smile upon Thor's face. In no way did he blame him for failing against an Asgardian. But this was better conveyed without words. He raised his eyebrows, shook his head slightly and threw up a listless hand in defeat. "I don't know how she got in, but... the situation was strange, to say the least." They both listened intently, and Thor was glad to see out of the corner of his eye that Lady Natasha would hear as well. "I didn't really see her as an enemy at first. She seemed kind-of... lost, and way too exposed to be doing this on her own. Once I realized she hadn't seen me, I just stopped at the door there and waited."  
  
Tony spoke up. "For what?"  
  
"An accomplice... to see what she would do... I don't know," he defended. "Turns out she _did_ have her own mission. Nobody ever told me there was a secret security panel _in the bar_." He shot Tony an accusing look.  
  
He shrugged, his arms remaining folded. "I figured someone would've let you in on it by now. But nobody has the code yet. And I'm pretty sure you're the _only_ person who hasn't noticed." He was very judgmental in demeanor but thankfully, for the most part, holding his tongue. Thor would not allow Steve the Captain to be admonished for this.  
  
"Well _she_ had the code. And JARVIS wasn't responding. So that's when I confronted her. She didn't immediately attack _or_ run... so I just grabbed a wrist to stop her from doing anything else. I even offered her help - our protection. But then she pulled out some... definitely expert moves, to try and get away."  
  
That piqued Tony's interest. "Did you get a good look at her?"  
  
"Not really. She was covered head-to-toe. Younger-looking eyes, I guess. Green. She was real short. And there was something off about her. Those eyes... I mean, she wasn't happy about being caught of course. But when she looked at me there was a... darkness..." He shook the image from his head. "Disturbing. It wasn't just an angry defeated opponent staring me down." He sighed. "'Evil', is the only way I can think to call it."  
  
Tony interrupted Thor's attempt to speak... again. "So if you had Pandora by the hair, then who opened the box?"  
  
The Captain clenched his jaw, and inspected his shield for damage. "Like I said, expert moves. I had no idea that thing was motion-activated. She went to extremes, and she still couldn't touch it..."  
  
Tony suddenly raised his arms and his voice in frustration. "It's a big room, Cap. Why would you even let her _get close_ to that kind of technology?"  
  
The look he got in response was positively caustic. "Hey, I didn't see you there! Barton and I are the only ones who even _noticed_. And anyway, what would you have done? A single trespasser, small, jumpy, otherwise unarmed... Look me in the eyes and tell me _you'd_ have pulled a weapon."  
  
A scathing reply surely on the tip of his tongue, Tony pointed at him and opened his mouth. But he stopped suddenly, his attention drawn instead to the large television belonging to the open-air alcohol establishment directly across the street. Several passers-by were even courteous enough not to block their view of it while they stopped to stare as well... those who were not already staring at Tony's caged fortress, that is.  
  
Though they could not hear the sounds it made, the visions the device showed them were clear enough to briefly stop Thor's heart.  
  
They were taking place simultaneously at several recognizable points all over Midgard. Asgardian soldiers, arriving via the Bifrost and what he could only assume were Loki's secret passageways as well. Short battles took place with a few of the more militant kingdoms' armies, but one way or the other, all major cities they encountered were being occupied. They were met with little resistance. None would be effective, Thor knew. Not against the army of Asgard.  
  
As if to purposefully shatter all remaining thoughts that this was not, in fact, his worst nightmare - another vision appeared, interrupting the last. It appeared on the television, then on the portable computers of the shops' patrons, and, one by one, on every cell phone of every bystander's that was angled so he could see. The vision was of Loki, in his helm and full battle armor, pacing about one of their television stages, several restrained and incapacitated humans at his feet. Thor could only watch as his brother addressed the whole of the realm, in a smooth, commanding tone - helpless, from inside a prison of his own making.  
  
"Good evening, denizens of Midgard." He put a hand to his chest. "I am Loki, king of Asgard. Recently, certain factions of yours have made the very _unwise_ decision to effect an act of war. An attack - exceptionally personal in nature - against my mortal queen." He paused a moment, eying the more conscious of the humans. "Apparently, it was for the possession of both my child and an innate gift, that she was hunted by those called 'SHIELD' and 'Hydra'." His tone took on a hint of mockery at the mention of those names. "Nevertheless, for this - merely the epitome of a _countless_ multitude of reasons - your privileges as custodians of Midgard have been revoked. Asgard will be taking command." He paused, and looked down in thought. "I would advise against attempting to resist my warriors' actions, for though it is not my intent to take lives, you'll find that I'm not above it. The control of all technology, resources, and _especially_ any objects of supernatural origin, will be permanently relinquished to me." He stopped in front of a tightly-bound, weeping woman, who looked away as he lowered himself. He lifted her chin, gently wiped a tear away with his thumb, and spoke as if only to her. "When given due respect, I am quite the benevolent ruler. I will see to it that the necessary changes are made as quickly and painlessly as possible. And in time, you will come to realize that it was for the best interests of _all_." He released her, righted himself, and disdainfully waved away his audience. The screens returned to their respective functions.  
  
Thor's mind went in many directions at once. You must make this right, he ordered himself repeatedly. You must find a way to fix this, as it is _your_ fault for assuming that Loki had evolved beyond such emotional reactions.  
  
His fingers made an audible, leathery creak as they tightened around the handle of Mjolnir. Loki's mortal had not changed him. She was no more than a political weapon, a tool, a poor, unsuspecting means to his vicious end. He _should have known_.  
  
Bank robbing. Black-market explosives. Another stolen computer, probably to look up how to _use_ said explosives. 4372 was turning out to be quite the criminal, Coulson thought. But she hadn't hurt anyone _else_ yet. And that bumped her down several levels on the current priority list.  
  
He was _significantly_ more stressed-out than he let on. But he kept himself moving. He moved at a professionally brisk pace from the facility's main hall to the hangar bay, phone-in-hand, to check on the status of the scramble. It didn't seem that the noise level in there was going to be a problem anyway, because - for reasons unknown - none of the numbers he'd been calling were currently functional! He hung up on the eleventh 'network difficulties' message he'd received from Natasha's number. He called each one a few more times, in order of relevance for this particular crisis, while he trekked across the immense space. But his multitasking was interrupted by approaching security agents. "Sir, what are your orders regarding the relocation of the GR prisoners?"  
  
He stopped, turned, and waited for the last Quinjet to complete its take off so he would be heard. He pressed his lips together in a way that would _not_ result in his usual ambiguous half-smile, and let the deathly stare he knew he possessed go ahead and preface his reply. He'd dedicated to the task some of his most experienced agents - ones he could use elsewhere right about now - specifically so he wouldn't have to be asked this kind of obvious question. His stress levels peaked just as the room quieted, and he couldn't help but raise his voice a little anyway. " _Sidebar_ , agent. This is not something we can afford to be concerning ourselves with while we are _in the middle of a full-scale alien invasion!_ "  
  
The alarmed expressions on the agents' faces went way beyond the kind that usually accompanied the defensive excuse-making that he'd expected to come next. He quickly realized that they weren't looking at him at all. Just as they'd pulled and aimed their guns, he felt the sting of a very sharp blade being pressed to his throat, and the attacker's arms wrapped tightly around his: small, armored, and at an angle which suggested they were very short... not good not good not good! He immediately motioned for the agents to lower their weapons and step away. The sting elevated to a low level of pain as the dagger cut into him a little, just from that small amount of movement. He became _really_ uncomfortable, though, when he felt her hot breath on his ear. "Take me to your leader," she whispered sweetly.  
  
Not funny. "4372!" he replied with false excitement. He'd forgotten her name again. She loosened her hold, removed the dagger and stepped into view, grinning. She kept her weapon at the ready, and was noticeably careful to keep an eye on both his hands... despite the ability to disappear at will... "Nice armor," he redirected. "Really compliments the green shirt. Is that what you were wearing before Hydra?" She raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the subtle reminder of her rescue. "I'd have had it remade too. It looks good on you."  
  
She ignored his babbling and turned her head slightly, indirectly addressing the agents. "Weapons on the floor." They obeyed without so much as a glance in his direction. Their guns clattered to the floor extra loudly - just in case she wouldn't have otherwise heard. Then her eyes shifted back to him. He got the hint. He removed his own gun from the holster underneath his jacket and placed it on the floor. Instinctively he kept his hands slightly elevated, in plain view. Truth be told, he didn't know what the former agent was capable of anymore.  
  
Suddenly she stepped up close to him and delicately placed the dagger on the side of his face, staring him down. Her voice was low and threatening. "I... _hate_ you. Never forget that. I wish you'd never saved me, and I will _never_ forgive you for what you've done." He changed his expression to one of impartial attentiveness. He almost felt bad for all of that... almost. "However. I need to get a message through... directly to the Council, not you. It pertains to your realm's... current predicament."  
  
He smiled openly, as soon as the blade was a safe distance away. "Sure, I can arrange a little video conference for you. All my stuff's in there, though... He stuck out an arm towards the building behind her. "May I lead the way?"  
  
"No need," she stated tersely. To his surprise, she forcefully grabbed his hand. He had about a second to think about why. What... oh no.  
  
Instantly they were relocated to the conference room. It was dark for a second, until she took a step forward, activating the lights. Hm.  
  
He discreetly checked the status of the Dagger of Supernatural Limb Severance before taking a seat at one of the computer consoles. She had a sheath for it - all four of them, that is - but it never left her other hand. She was wary, which meant she had a weakness, even in this situation... and it was now his first priority to find it. He turned to the monitor, summoned the emergency meeting protocols and sent the message, leaning back in the comfy leather swivel chair to wait for their collective response.  
  
He didn't have to wait long. They'd already virtually assembled, he realized. Probably as soon as the pirated broadcast went out. He keyed in a few commands and rolled back a bit to look up at the huge screens, watching as each grey SHIELD logo was replaced by the heavily-shaded image of a Council member.  
  
Only then did she sheathe the dagger - for the sake of appearances, he figured. Before he could introduce his captor, she stepped forward and spoke for herself.  
  
"Thank you all for meeting me on such short notice." She was cordial, but assertive towards them. It made sense, that she'd have acquired some diplomacy skills during her time away... what with being the queen of Asgard and all.  
  
"And who, may I ask, are you?" asked a councilman quite incisively.  
  
She raised her eyebrows, but cast her gaze downward, fidgeting with one of the folds of her armor. "I have a name... and an agent number as well, Sir..." Coulson knew what she'd say, and waited with anticipation for the Council's reaction too. At least now there would be no question as to why he'd been so calm and compliant. She slowly looked up again, failing to hide a smug grin. "But you all know me better as GR 4372."  
  
First impressions mean everything. The councilman who'd asked sat up straight in his chair, palms on the table in front of him. Coulson was pretty sure, despite the shadowing, that the councilwoman next to him wore an expression of reserved shock. And the conspicuously bald councilman on the left just shook his head incredulously. Her assumption had been correct. It was, in fact, the Council who had determined the exact course of action to take against her too. But Coulson knew that she needed someone specific to blame, someone to hate for what happened. And his job at the moment was to keep that feeling from expanding into a retaliation against the entire human race. As far as she knew it was _his_ decision, and her rage would stop at him.    
  
"I've asked Agent Coulson here to set up this meeting so I can give you some advice."  
  
The councilwoman raised her head. "Loki has already presented us with his 'advice' -"  
  
"I'm not Loki," she interrupted just as rudely. "But I know him well enough to say he'll stop at nothing to gain control of your people. He wants revenge for the death of his daughter. And, you know -" She subtly cocked her head to the side. " - to take away all the big-boy toys and put them on a shelf well out of your reach."  
  
"We'll be seeing to it that that doesn't happen," the bald man responded quickly. "You can tell him right now that if he shows his face anywhere on Earth, The Avengers will grind it into the ground - again."  
  
She dipped her head apologetically. "Ah. I see you haven't heard." She moved towards Coulson, who immediately vacated the chair. She wanted the computer for something. He even held it still for her, but she chose to bend down instead. He watched as she accessed the internet, a news station's website, and mirrored the feed so the Council could see what she saw. An aerial view of Stark Tower, encased in a golden force field, the mentioned party now outside. Some were conversing with uniformed military experts at the edge, some watching Stark use a sizable, complex-looking contraption to attack the field itself. The councilwoman put her hand over her mouth. "It seems that your Avengers, for all intents and purposes, are no more than caged animals." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you really think that Loki would even _risk_ that same thing happening again? It was rather humiliating."  
  
The room fell silent. So she continued. "Personally, I harbor varying levels of hate for you all." She glared at Coulson. "And I'll be more than happy to _continue_ to not give a damn what happens to this horrible place, if you force me to keep playing the role of Asgardian royalty. But I'd prefer not to see so many casualties..." She scoffed. "because you _know_ there's going to be a whole lot of humans dumb enough to stand up to Loki and his immortal army."  
  
The other councilman leaned forward and folded his arms across the table. He had a pleasant, manipulative politician's voice. "Well then. Let's hear it. You certainly have the floor."  
  
"Thank you." She spoke as if they were in the midst of a casual brunch, not a hostage situation. And they went along with it. "First, the non-negotiable part." Coulson did his best not to flinch at her sudden appearance right next to him again. But she only looked at the screen, brought up one particular security camera feed, and was back in the middle of the room. "In about five minutes, every gifted that SHIELD has ever incarcerated will be set free."  
  
"What... you can't do that - "

She gave that one a rather murderous look, and held up one finger. "The question now is, what will you do with the situation I have presented to you. Will you flip a lid, as you've already started to do? Demand that I stop? Send a SWAT team to attempt to capture us all? Or, will you acknowledge the fact that we are the only ones on Earth right now even remotely capable of fighting off an Asgardian army. Trust that my reputation, to them, makes me someone worthy of following. Let us... save the world."  
  
They all looked at eachother. More accurately, eachother's screens. Then the bald councilman spoke. "Those gifteds are kept out of the population for a reason..." She pursed her lips and nodded. Politely, she waited. She'd heard all of this before. "They're violent, unstable. Most are beyond reason. They're there because they're dangerous."  
  
When he was finished, she raised an eyebrow. "And how many, would you say, are on the same level of 'dangerous' as me?"  
  
"That's classified," Coulson interjected.  
  
Her jaw clenched, and she focused intently on him for a moment, eyes wide. A warning.

"I didn't come here to argue. The fact is, they don't want their planet run by Loki any more than you do." She paced slowly, restless. It seemed difficult for her to stay stationary for this long. "Rest assured, I won't allow them to cause more death and destruction than the Asgardians would. That would defeat my entire purpose here." She stopped, and reached back to tighten the knot on her laced-up armor while she spoke. "Don't misunderstand; there _will_ be destruction. I highly recommend you issue evacuation orders for all the occupied cities, and those surrounding as well. But I will control them, lead them into battle, free your cities and send Loki Bifrosting back to Asgard where he belongs. All _you_ have to do..." a grin spread across her face as she leveled her gaze solely on the man who'd challenged her the most. "... is _stay out of our way_."  
  
Without further warning, she was gone. And a perfectly-timed explosion ripped through the adjacent building. Its shock wave shook the reinforced walls of the entire compound, including the room they were in. It caught Coulson by surprise, though he of all people should have known she was serious, and been watching for that five to go by...  
  
It cut off all communications and caused the lights to flicker for a second. When it all came back, Coulson immediately pulled up that camera's bird's-eye view again. What he saw was a building with several large holes in it. They were carefully spaced, so as to avoid the supportive structures inside. The simultaneous explosions had destroyed most of each cell's outermost wall... giving each and every one of its inhabitants access to the outside world. The Council could see it too, though the malfunctioning equipment had - thankfully - silenced them for the moment.  
  
He leaned in and watched, switching the view from camera to camera to follow the movements of the prisoners. Curiously, not a single one was injured. And they all seemed to be headed in one general direction... towards a de-cloaking jet, not a hundred feet away. Unbelievable. He'd selfishly assumed that _he'd_ be her first target if she ever returned. Perhaps her anger wasn't as focused on him as he'd thought.  
  
Several agents had rushed into the room within seconds of the perceived attack. One had been yelling at him for a while now. "Director Coulson! Please advise course of action for recapture!"  
  
"Sorry," he muttered thoughtfully, eyes still locked on the screen. "...but I can't - in good conscience - advise that at all."


	28. Lovers' Quarrel

Sara had made quite the accurate prediction, despite Loki's doubts. She'd been telling him all about some of the more reliable details of Earth's culture. The 'leaked' information on her case from SHIELD and the social media stories that his various puppets had planted were _still_ cultivating and feeding her reputation; she could see it. It was just enough to ensure that people knew about her. The detainees she'd freed already knew her hatred well, were more than happy to fight for a purpose again, and - most importantly - knew that she was _strong_. Mentally. And that SHIELD was kind of afraid of her. She smiled to herself as she brandished her daggers once more.  
  
Surrounded by those whom she affectionately called 'numbers', she made confident strides towards the Asgardian soldiers responsible for guarding the city of New York. They'd counteracted evacuation attempts. They'd subdued the local police. They'd repelled the various special forces sent in to attack, subvert and negotiate. But they were all in for one hell of a surprise now.  
  
She felt it was a good gesture to try and free the Avengers first. Coulson had such faith in them. But beyond that goal, there was no plan. No organization. No strategy. Guerrilla warfare. And that's why they'd succeed. They were unpredictable, in both nature and ability. Each number presented a unique challenge, many of which Loki's soldiers had never even seen before. All of Asgard's grand battle experience and wisdom would do them no good here.

The wave of chaos descended upon them ominously, glaring, grinning, drawing out their abilities prematurely like the prideful weapons they were. Some of the numbers with more... physical, abilities than hers were a little too enthusiastic about it though, she thought. They ran ahead, eager to confront the vaunted warriors. She kept a very close eye on them. In particular an angry adolescent female, far thinner than any humanely-kept prisoner should be, with what appeared to be scars from rows of perfectly-spaced cuts covering both of her arms. One row went a little further up than the other. She really didn't want to know what that was all about. She did her best to watch her at the same time as everyone else, from her perch on the arm of an idle construction crane, high above the streets.  
  
She wanted to be down there with them, to see the enemy's expressions as she neared, her reputation in Asgard filling them with doubt before they even met her blades. But her ability made her more useful as a sort-of... referee. She moved from place to place, instantly shifting to wherever would give her the best view of the battle. And every few minutes, she'd spot one or two of the numbers being overwhelmed. She'd draw daggers and poof down there to even the odds, a tempest of flashing blades and fury. Then she'd return to her post. They were, thus far, always happy to see her. The Asgardians not so much.  
  
Though Loki had surely thoroughly informed them all of her defection, they were still in the habit of recognizing her as queen. They were reluctant to fight her immediately upon sight. An advantage she tried not to exploit.  
  
She was still a bit out-of breath when she noticed the shine of a dark liquid - lots of it - on the asphalt in a street-adjacent parking lot below. Blood. It was the scarred woman. 'Sever', she called herself. She was corralling three Asgardian soldiers into a wall. They backed away as she advanced, as they all had deep wounds... cuts. Her ability was actually able to cut into them - with ease, she realized, as she whipped her splayed-out fingers through the air in front of her. Five cuts appeared on the nearest soldier's face. As he bled out and lost consciousness (she hoped), she carved another perfectly straight line into her arm with her finger, just above the rest. The larger still-conscious oss took that brief opportunity to hoist the wounded over his shoulder and flee the scene, their superior's orders lost in the cacophony of destruction and battle cries. But the leader himself stayed behind... to ensure they got away.  
  
She tp'd down there, just a few feet to her right, as Sever continued to advance on her prey. "I believe he's done, soldier," 4372 pointed out. "He's given up. Time to let them go." She eyed the long trail of blood left by the two that got away. "Vengeance is not what we're here for."  
  
Sever glanced in her direction, the permanent look of hatred obscuring any other indication of feeling in her deadened eyes. She paused to look her up and down - for the first time in a sizing-her-up kind of way - then disregarded her completely. She took another step and sliced him again, directing all her power with index fingers only to his ankles. He fell to his knees, and she reared back as if to backhand him from twelve feet away. But 4372 caught her hand.  
  
Immediately the number turned violent. She grabbed 4372's upper arm with both hands and twisted it down, throwing her to the ground. She hit hard, but as soon as Sever'd let go she was gone. She appeared behind her instead, sprung to her feet and sank a dagger into the back of her neck. A merciful death. Unfortunate... but it wasn't the first time she'd had to do it. They'd been warned of this before agreeing to fight. There was no controlling that kind of rage. And she couldn't have those kinds of actions tarnishing her hard-earned image. Thus far, none of the police or news cameras had caught her cold, emotionless face. So Sever was just another casualty of war.  
  
As the body hit the ground, she closed her eyes, suppressing an upwelling of emotion. She was still subject to involuntary relocation from time to time. But Sever _wasn't_ her. She wasn't her dark side, or her future. 4372 was a disciple of Loki. And that handsome homicidal genius had survived for thousands of years as such.  
  
She whipped the dagger down and out from her side, flinging the number's blood off in a neat line across the pavement. Her very favorite of all the little tricks Loki had shown her. It was beautiful. And intimidating. The blood spatter barely missed the Asgardian general's knees, and his eyes flashed fear as he rose to his unstable feet.  
  
"Vengeance is not what we're here for," she restated calmly, to nobody in particular. But several of the surrounding numbers had heard it well. She sheathed the dagger and knelt down, placing her hand on the only spot of blood-free pavement. Preparing to return to her post.  
  
Without warning, an iridescent Bifrost beam shot down from the sky. It deposited none other than Loki his self-righteous self, right in the middle of the street. His angry eyes found her quickly, but he attacked no one. He sauntered towards her, lifting his helm from his head along the way, as if it were a Stetson to be removed in the presence of a lady. He didn't even have to intimidate his way through the chaos to get to her. It parted around him, his piercing eyes never leaving hers the whole time. As he approached, two particularly strong-looking Asgardian soldiers left the battle to protect their king. But without hesitation, he held up his hand to dismiss them. He paused at a respectable distance, arms outstretched, even with Gungnir in one hand. "Sara," he admonished smoothly. "What is the meaning of this? Stop this madness..." he reluctantly softened his tone. "Please. You know that I don't intend to harm them. But you must order them _not to fight!_ "  
  
Not five miles away, the motley group of misfits often called Avengers grew more restless in their tower... if that were at all possible. Temporarily out of ideas for how to disable the force field, they'd gathered around the only device Stark owned that was connected to normal, wired cable TV, to watch what was happening on the news. Not normally one to take part in media sensationalism, Natasha was surprised to find herself suddenly grateful for the majority of the world's obsession with it. The cameramen's bravery/stupidity at least offered them a perspective on the events. She stopped her anxious pacing and slipped between Banner and Barton on the couch.  
  
_Finally_ someone was able to zoom in on the unpredictable, elusive gifted known as 4372. The seemingly-unstoppable leader of the 'Gifted Resistance', as SHIELD was calling it. Natasha knew her story - they all did now. And if ever there was a criminal that she could mostly identify with, it was this one. She showed no fear of Loki, as she slowly rose up from the ground. Her annoyance was obvious though. Her glare at him was good and withering. She almost had to laugh at it all... Given what she knew of their personalities, it was a wonder they hadn't killed _eachother_ yet.  
  
4372 stood up straight and held her head high, analyzing him. Then she dipped it to the side in acknowledgement of his request. Her slightly-rolled eyes betrayed that she'd somewhat expected his interference, but overall she held a diplomatic composure. She didn't even reach for a dagger as she approached. Loki, strangely, allowed her to get close. He seemed somewhat leery, but he only gazed down at her as she stepped up to him - _very_ close - as if to discuss something private. Natasha smiled knowingly when she gave him an insincere frown. She viciously grabbed his neck, and teleported them both out of the scene.  
  
Everyone in the room looked at Barton again. He still had the remote. He changed the channels, frantically searching for a station with a better-positioned news crew in its employ. He found one much more quickly this time...  
  
The shot was focused on Loki, who'd since freed himself of her hand and taken a defensive position with Gungnir. He took in their new surroundings. They were still on the street, but far away from the other gifteds... and much closer to them! Natasha immediately recognized the outermost entrance to Stark Tower when it appeared in the background. So did he. And now his tone was low and dark... and more than a little threatening. "Very well." He paced the perimeter of buildings, eyeing the startled spectators, looking for people who might interfere. "But I must warn you, pet. This is no mere lovers' quarrel." He looked up for a second just before the faint sound of an approaching helicopter. There were already lots of news vehicles in that area, reporting on the appearance of the mysterious force field. The main reason for Natasha's current location indoors.  
  
4372 had little regard for their audience. Unnaturally so, in fact... not even a glance to survey the scene. Was that _the reason_ she'd brought him there? It was almost as if she wanted everyone to see... She continued to watch only him, arms folded, head tilted slightly, with a smirk on her face as he issued his final warning. "If you intend to fight me, I will incapacitate you. And if you won't stop them..." He placed his helm on the floor, gripped Gungnir with both hands, and leveled his gaze at her. "I will."  
  
She appeared directly behind him, and laughed derisively as he frantically spun with his spear. She closed the distance between them carelessly, still giggling. "But you can't even stop _me_... _lover_." She drew a single dagger, paused, and shook it at him, thoughtfully. "You know, you'd think that - as someone who's been incarcerated so often - you'd have a better understanding of a people's need for freedom. Of the... value, which I place in it... even in spite of past transgressions." She glanced at the building behind him... their encounter had appeared on its screen. The huge one. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head to clear it of that distraction.  
  
The seriousness of her stated convictions became apparent, though, as soon as those eyes came back to him. With a fierce, relentless stare she moved forward again, intently drawing a second dagger, its fine dark metal shining red with the rising sun. He watched, seemingly bemused, and stood his ground. So she easily stepped in and sliced across - with one. She was testing him; making sure they really understood each other. He blocked the attempt with a suddenly-vertical Gungnir.  
  
4372 certainly wasn't faster than Loki. He was Asgardian. It probably wasn't even possible. But the hard fact was, it didn't matter. Her ability negated almost any amount of speed. A few well-aimed, perfectly-timed teleports could very well give her the upper hand. But then there was the point that Thor had made. Loki was the one who'd trained her so well. Natasha looked back at him. He seemed to be watching - standing behind the couch, gazing in that direction - but in fact he was lost in thought. He blamed himself. That much was clear. She turned back to the impending duel. The real question there was, would Loki be able to predict her movements? They were instantaneous, but they were still hers...  
  
Suddenly the predacious combatants broke out into lightning speed. She gracefully struck again, this time near his ribs, just past the bottom edge of his armor. A weak spot. But she followed with the other hand slashing up. He hadn't expected that. The metals clashed together as he blocked the first strike and slid them both away, and he almost avoided the second. It cut through the exposed fabric on the underside of his arm and into him. Not deeply, but it was enough. Enough to make him realize that while she may not be willing to kill him, maiming was not out of the question. His expression lowered, the open-mouthed shock becoming more of a sneer. She remained unfazed.  
  
When she came at him again with a swift left-to right cut, he repositioned the spear downwards, both to block and to drive it into her foot while he grabbed for the other arm. But she appeared on the other side of it and used both daggers - one cutting into his fingers a little - to fling it up and inward, against the weakest point of his hand, to disarm him. But he not only recognized the move, he used it against her. He spun in the same direction, the sudden lack of resistance throwing her off-balance. In one elegant motion he turned, grinning, twirling Gungnir at shoulder-level, and when he came around he lifted slightly and used the momentum to whip it back down towards her head - while she blocked from the side as expected. She was barely able to bring the daggers together above her in time, parallel - and her locked elbows were just strong enough to block it. Surely he would have hit her anyway... if he'd used all of his strength. It would have been a lethal blow. Thor noticed it too. Loki refused to kill 'his mortal'.  
  
He whipped Gungnir up and away, withdrew completely and jabbed at her left leg. Not smart. She reappeared in the opening he left, two feet closer, and brought the crossed daggers down on the inside of the arm holding it. As soon as they made contact she tore them apart, leaving two very deep diagonal cuts. He winced, but didn't slow down. Despite the amount of pain - and the blood now saturating his sleeve - he immediately brought Gungnir back up for her inner shoulder. She took some of the hit, in the form of a moderately deep cut, dodging instead of blocking. Then she moved in a little further, officially gaining the advantage! He no longer had the space to slash or stab, only hit. He knew it, and now he looked concerned. He backed away, blocking each of her unrelenting blows, trying desperately to regain the upper hand.  
  
She kept moving in. Strike after high-angled strike. Then all of a sudden a two-handed downward attack. She couldn't really damage his shoulders through all that armor. But it forced him to bring both ends of Gungnir up, at extended arms length, and that's when she dropped down and sliced into his left knee. He'd shifted his weight off of it just before contact and was still able to nimbly dodge the right-sided strike as she rose. To her left, specifically. This gave him just enough distance and angle for a particularly-disabling move. He spun again, letting Gungnir out with one hand, crouched low and used the immense centrifugal force to hit both her shins at once. She couldn't block that at all. He was well out-of-reach.  
  
She stumbled. The pain was simply too much for her, reverberating through her bones... Natasha couldn't help but cringe at the sight. But 4372 only needed to take one step to throw a dagger-enhanced haymaker at his neck. It hit, but only grazed the nearest side. He hissed in pain. But he'd already done more damage. Her shins would definitely slow her down... when she wasn't using her ability, that is. She wondered how often she could do it.  
  
She tp'd behind him, close, and straightened up. But it was only a second before she had to double-handed block another full-force horizontal hit. This time he held it though, sliding his hands apart and pushing down, with a cruel grin. He was using his height against her. He pushed Gungnir forward, stepping in... normally a risky move for a spear-wielder. But she couldn't step back much, not with the damage to her legs. She'd fall. And she needed to keep her only advantage; keep close. She repositioned slightly and bent backwards, holding him at bay, the spear now over her head. Her hands slid apart as well, until one of them met his...  
  
Suddenly they were gone again. The cameramen yelled to each other, but they figured out their new location almost instantly. The viewpoint abruptly switched to one of the helicopters... they were on the top of Stark Tower! Everyone jumped up and bolted out of the room. Thor's finally going to bust through the floor on this level, Natasha thought, as he thundered ahead of the others. She was going to follow them, but stopped herself... It would take them a few minutes to get there. She'd stay and watch until they arrived, and use the comm to warn them if anything positively biblical went down. Her usefulness versus the self-perceived god was limited in close combat anyway.  
  
When Gungnir finally slipped off the daggers 4372 sprung forward, incredibly fast. She slashed down with both at once... through the air. He'd been able to ignore the teleport this time and was already behind her. That was why he'd taken that double-risk, and gotten close. Just before she could tp out of that very bad position, he thrust the spear into her lower back. She cried out, her ability disrupted, but recovered quickly and turned on her heel. She was angry now; her expression made that abundantly clear. But what she saw in _his_ eyes made her stop. Horror. Even from the elevated angle, it was palpable. Pure, inconcealable horror. Loki didn't move; he didn't even raise Gungnir again in defense. Natasha squinted at the screen and searched for the reason why: her hands, his hands, the blade... it was covered in blood. Her blood. Then, oddly, her white leather armor fell off. She stared at it, confused. Gungnir had severed half the golden strings that held the fitted piece together... and it hadn't stopped there. Natasha covered her mouth, then quickly commed the new development to Barton. She heard him pass it on.  
  
Gungnir clattered to the floor as Loki ran to her. He managed to catch her just before she fell. She folded backwards over his arm, unable to support herself, so he added the other and carefully lowered her onto her back. Natasha realized, at about the same time he did, what exactly had happened there. He hadn't put much force behind the stab, not nearly enough at least... but he'd failed to account for that narrow laced-up gap. Perhaps he hadn't even seen it... her braids hadn't lasted long in the battle, and her hair was so long that it covered it up when she was still. Just one inch, to the left or right, and he would have hit the thick leather instead, penetrating maybe half an inch past it, at best.  
  
He turned her onto her side. Blood - so much blood - had soaked that hair and her whole back too. The otherwise creepy-calm girl could see it pooling in front of her now. She began to panic. But her stunned expression and rapid, shallow breaths were the only indication of her fear. She hadn't the energy to scream.  
  
Loki looked her over. "No..." he breathed. He pulled up the back of her tunic and shook his head, his alarm quickly escalating into hysteria. "Andskötans helvítis _no!_ " She fell onto her back again and gasped as he was forcibly pulled away from her... by an incredibly strong Steve Rogers and suited-up Tony Stark. They struggled to hold him back. His powerful, frustrated and anguished scream resounded throughout the building, reaching Natasha's ears even as she dashed up the stairs to help them. When she finally got there, he had given up, heaving and gasping, and seeing his brother had come.  
  
Thor was the first to reach her. She flinched when she saw Mjolnir on the ground beside her head and realized who was touching her now. But he leaned over her, shook his head slightly and gave her a reassuring smile. "You've no need to fear me, little draugr. Not even on Midgard." She relaxed a little, and did her best to help him curl her into a fetal position to look at the wound. His eyes widened, but he remained focused. He made a decision, turned back to the others and informed them all that the situation was worse than it appeared. "Summon your healers. Quickly," he yelled.  
  
She wasn't moving anymore. Whatever he'd hit, and the blood loss... Natasha privately cursed herself for only watching; she could've easily predicted this sort of thing. _Of course_ she'd come here, to draw him away from the others. If it appeared she was losing the battle, they'd probably have come to her aid, and been slaughtered as well. And what better way to isolate her fight than to use the impenetrable force field. They'd all seen her ability. SHIELD had obsessed over the footage of her attacks,  analyzing the extent of her ability. But she didn't really seem to be as menacing as they wanted everyone to believe. She was just... broken. Natasha could relate to that. But she'd only ever had Loki to fix her.  
  
"Order them to stand down," the Cap, on Loki's left arm, demanded through gritted teeth.  
  
Natasha ran in to join Thor, Barton and Banner. She knelt down to her level, having some medical knowledge, but deferred to Banner for his expertise. She offered to help. But Banner only pressed his lips together, stood up to look at Thor and - very slightly - shook his head.  
  
Loki ignored the Captain's demands. He stopped them from moving him any further away. But only he, Thor and Natasha actually heard her breathe his name. "Lo -" she gasped. "Loki..."  
  
That was all the motivation he needed. He completely freaked out on his captors, struggling against their grips, then jerked his arms down with all he had and violently broke free. He turned slightly, wary as he stepped, prepared to fight them all to get to her. But they let him reach her unscathed. One by one, they'd already begun to step back from her side. Nobody inside the force field could get out. They'd been trying to do that for hours. And, in spite of it all, it seemed only right to let Loki say goodbye.  
  
He knelt behind the crumpled form, supporting her position with one arm to keep her from moving, from exacerbating the injury. He proceeded to move a quivering hand over her back, very close but not touching the green fabric of the tunic or her skin. He did it very slowly - then he froze up for a second. He furrowed his brow, and repeated the action even slower, more deliberately. Finally he let out a sharp breath, in shock, his eyes wide with panic. Then he lowered his head, leaned over and placed it on her shoulder. The unruly hair falling forward made it so she couldn't see his face, but that was probably for the best. His eyes were welling up.  
  
Almost every screen in the city switched instantly to the high-tech, stable zoom shot that the nearest helicopter was feeding them. Nothing was sacred to the moguls of media. No honor, no shame. It was the only one close enough to see the actual tears running down the angry, vengeful god's face as it lifted. "I... I cannot heal you, pet," he spoke softly. "I can't heal you." He whispered it several times - for once in his life at a loss for words. He sat up, pulled her close and cradled her against him, the shine of his armor obscured by the blood from them both. "I can't heal you. I... I cannot... I'm sorry."  
  
From somewhere in the heap of flesh came a whisper. "I know." She could see his face now. She managed a weak smile. "Been... here before, remember?" Her expression was brave and encouraging... even as her eyes lost focus. Her lips parted as she began to shake and hyperventilate, her body's reaction to the trauma. He touched her face and whimpered her name... her real name. She forced them to function again, and they shifted, concerned, towards the nearest building's screen. The one that not only showed the Tower, but his army as well, still in intense combat with the largest group of numbers at the edge of the city. Suddenly her features softened. Natasha knew that look. She was content, resigned to her fate as a martyr for her cause... but that wasn't what she would become...  
  
Loki followed her gaze, and his eyes betrayed his rage... but he closed them quickly enough. Slowly, he shook his head. Then he took a deep breath and concentrated on something else. An illusion appeared on the screen, in midst of the battle. A projection of Loki, strong, with no signs of distress. "Warriors of Asgard." They stopped - the ones that could - and listened to what they knew to be their king. "I order you now to cease... and desist. This war has met its end."  
  
He snapped to attention again, like he'd heard something. "The healers..." Thor explained. Their Asgardian ears could probably hear the sirens in the distance.  
  
Loki urged her to fight her fate. "Look, pet." He hugged her closer. "The vision it shows you now... open your eyes, and see what you have done." She did. One by one, the soldiers sheathed their weapons, and stepped away. "You have my word; I will never attack a realm which is under your protection again. The price..." His voice cracked. "... the price is much too great."  
  
She looked deep into his eyes. Then her breathing and struggles increased again. She was trying her best to speak. She was so weak, she had to put everything into her words - barely whispers, but he would hear them... and Natasha could read lips.  
  
"Loki, I... take power from you. Always. I can feel it. I can't help it -" she winced, then refocused, desperate to get it out. "You can. Take mine. Whatever it is... take it all. You might... still..." Suddenly he put a finger to her lips, a bit of surprised smile on his. He understood.  
  
Natasha started at the little breath of pain she let out, but he was only repositioning her body to rest against him, freeing up both hands - for something magic, no doubt. Or some strange death ritual. He gently placed them both on her again, one on her head and one on her shaky, heaving chest. He closed his eyes. Not a care in the world for being surrounded by all his mortal enemies - literally. His lips moved... not in any language Natasha spoke. But no sound came out. Then her eyes rolled back into her head, as it fell over onto his chest. Had he... did he just do what it looked like he did? No, she was still breathing, just barely. She'd passed out.  
  
From there he began to move quickly. He tore off her shirt, and glared at the hapless bystanders. Everyone except Natasha immediately turned away, various expressions of awkwardness and discomfort on their faces. He pulled her body away from his to lay her gently on her stomach. As soon as it registered that the evil being was actually trying to do some good, Natasha rushed over to help. She held the former agent's head up and turned it to the side as he put her down. She got no glare from him. She held her hand on her neck, finding and then monitoring her pulse, and looked back, warily, at Loki. "What are you going to do?"  
  
He didn't respond. He only put his hands on her skin again, one on each side of the injury. Actually, they'd never left it, she realized. He must need the contact for something. The deep, gaping wound revealed more of her insides than Natasha liked to see on someone who was supposed to live through it. But her pulse didn't get really rapid and thready until he started the chant again. She watched him closely, suspicious, monitoring her breathing now with the other hand as well.  
  
Her pulse slowed down, almost to non-existence. Her breath weakened even further. When she looked down to see why, the color was already draining from her face. "What are you doing?" she asked more urgently. "You're killing her!" She grabbed his arm.  
  
His eyes snapped open directly on hers. Agitated, but calm. And frighteningly intelligent. "If I don't, then she's already dead. Your healers are far too belated," he spat.  
  
He hadn't even made a move for her hand. She let go, and reluctantly accepted that whatever was happening here was beyond her knowledge. What she did know, from experience, was most of this... monster's personality. And right now he wasn't himself. "I understand that it's... magic, or whatever. But if you don't do it soon - "  
  
"I _must_. The power that I take from her fades upon leaving its vessel."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "You're _taking_ something? From a dying human. What are you taking?"  
  
Surprisingly, he indulged her. "It is... power - " he thought for a moment. "The closest word in any of your languages is 'soul'. Your healers would say she sleeps. But this is not entirely true..." He checked for a reaction to that. She stifled it, listening intently. So he disclosed it all to her. "Inside she must trust me completely. She will weaken." He nodded towards the hand on her neck. "You will feel it. I must drain her to the brink of death - "  
  
"She's already on the brink of death!" Barton took a step forward, hand on the bow on his back, the most scathing look of hatred in his eyes. "We're not going to just stand by and watch - "  
  
"I will then be able to heal her," he continued, speaking loudly over their protests. He looked to Natasha again. "Keep them at bay. I must concentrate." She shot Barton a guarded 'you heard him' kind of look. He stepped back, folded his arms and relayed the situation to the others in whispers... biased in tone, for sure.  
  
They'd all begun to crowd around her again, cautiously, now that there was nothing too indecent to see. Nobody trusted him of course. But Thor had spoken of Loki's love for his odd little 'pet' before - apparently the sweetest term of endearment one could get from him... derogatory in their culture when used by anyone else. He'd made that very clear. Natasha wouldn't have called it love; but who knows, maybe they did. Loki stopped the chant again. This time he removed one hand, and pressed the other firmly to her wound, coating it in blood. Good thing she wasn't awake for that, she thought.  
  
He began again, with different words, still soundless, and he continued the strange process diligently... for several minutes, stretching silently into hours. However long it was, it went by quickly as she watched, with morbid fascination, the muscles and organs begin to close up and repair themselves! It was excruciatingly slow, but very real. It was as if the flesh had a will of its own and was being inspired, just by the touch of his hand, to try and do the impossible.  
  
Tony had noticed it too, and stepped away as soon as he did, presumably to tell JARVIS to stop the 'healers' insufficient attempt. Thor stayed close enough to the others to whisper more explanations to them, and far enough from his brother to avoid causing a distraction. He'd probably planned, as soon as he saw Loki, to beat the information out of him for how to deactivate the force field. But it seemed now that even he was convinced of his murderous brother's capacity for kindness.  
  
Loki began to show signs of difficulty - concentrating, then chanting... then staying upright. He bent forward and caught himself with his free hand, leaning over her, but furrowed his brow and stubbornly continued. Everyone watched the disturbing process of her skin beginning to draw together, curiously, all the way up until Iversen took her first whole - albeit rough and labored - breath. Her pulse grew gradually stronger, and her color returned. She opened her eyes, just as the wound was minutes from sealing itself.  
  
The first thing she saw was... well, everyone. Which freaked her out a little. She panicked and tried to push herself up. But Natasha figured that wasn't a good idea. She held her shoulders down and put her face - the face of a fellow agent - between her and the scaryness. "Hi," she said softly. "Natasha Romanov. You've probably heard of me," she said with a less-than-modest smile. She nodded towards her back. "Your freakshow hubby is almost done, uh... repairing you..." At that, she smiled slightly. She was already alert, and comprehending things! An incredible thing to see. But then she began to wonder what the others planned to do once he was done. Being the closest of all to Loki, she flipped her hair out of her face and discreetly put her hand on her gun.  
  
As soon as he'd removed his hand - and held it to his chest, looking exhausted - the guys began to move in on him. He hadn't seemed to notice yet. But it was then that Iversen decided to try and scramble to her feet. Natasha released her and got up first, handing her the cloth that was her tunic. But Loki just stayed there on his knees.  
  
She didn't seem to care who saw her in only her odd green leggings and bra. But Natasha could tell, without looking right away, exactly who'd seen and who hadn't. The sight of the - um - biology, in play there, was a reminder of her recent past. A tragic one. Natasha herself was careful to pretend not to notice. The cagey, powerfully-conflicted girl wasn't the type to take kindly to pity. Especially from those who were enemies by association...  
  
Iversen bent slightly and put her hand on Loki's shoulder. "Loki." He stared into space. "Loki... the generator. Tell me how to free these guys..." She looked around to see if they'd come any closer. "...or you're going to have a _very different_ fight on your hands. It's over, right? You said this war was over."  
  
Despondently, he nodded. "Yes, pet." He lifted one knee, then closed his eyes, frustrated with what appeared to be a full-body weakness. "If you would be so kind as to take me there..."  
  
She glanced at them all gratefully, and perhaps a bit apologetically too. Then she dropped down, put her hand on his, and just like that they were gone again. Just... blinked out of existence. Not even a minute later, the force field began to shrink. And by the time Natasha and Barton reached the device, they were nowhere to be found. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. But, she had to admit, she'd probably have done the same thing.


	29. Folly and Farce

The red light of dawn and the clear, pine-scented air bathed her frazzled senses in calm the second she'd returned to the mountainside. With Loki. Though, they were both making great efforts to collect themselves in the wake of all that madness.  
  
Her heart was pounding, her head was swimming... she'd need to rest before attempting that kind of distance again, with or without him. She gave in to her exhaustion and doubled over, hands on her knees. She looked over at him. "Do you _know_ how heavy you are?" she groaned.  
  
He took a few hunched steps forward, fixed his own posture and grinned. "I possess approximately thrice the weight, density and strength of any human," he informed her. Then he raised an eyebrow, slightly concerned. "I imagine that makes me particularly difficult to relocate."  
  
She responded with a wide-eyed, exaggerated nod. But his nonchalant attitude towards this was bothering her. Just one of many reminders he gave - wittingly or not - that he was far more skilled, experienced and powerful than she. Part of her wanted to knock the cheeky bastard down a peg. Part of her begged her to move; move anywhere out of his reach. The fear in her... it was still there. Even when Loki was _not_ the one drawing it out, it was there. It was the only thing that kept her from putting into action the varying levels of murder and massacre that raided her logical mind.  
  
He opened his arms and bowed apologetically. "I thank you for your efforts."  
  
She straightened up, reached back and touched her new scar. She and Coulson now shared something in common, she realized with mild disgust. But Loki swiftly grabbed that hand and used it to pull her towards him. He was careful to allow her to turn so as not to graze the wound. But her shoulder still thumped hard against his well-armored chest.  
  
She let him touch her as he pleased, always knowing in the back of her mind that the speed with which he could alter her body was directly proportional to his own risk of losing consciousness. Something he'd avoid at all costs. Also, the Tesseract had inadvertently explained something to her - that part of Loki she'd never understood before; the reason she'd feared him so much for so long. His forcefulness was part of his rage, and his rage gave him power _beyond_ power. She could feel it, undeniably, and each touch infused her with a... love, really. A deep, resonating love, of life and death, creation and destruction... chaos... And to give in to those enveloping eyes at the same time... did not aide in her efforts to calm her fluttery heart.  
   
The myths and legends of her people had always echoed, in various ways, the idea that the jotnar were much more in-tune with nature. This had to be where that stemmed from.  
  
He leaned his head forward slightly and watched her absorb it all, reveling in the joy it brought her timid soul, until she closed her eyes. He gently spread his hand over her pounding chest and smiled. "I must say, I rather enjoyed our little farce. I'd all but forgotten what a spirited fighter you are... when properly motivated." He narrowed his eyes and asked darkly, "Was it good for you?"  
  
"Painful. It was painful for me," she reminded him. "I was right, though. Humans and numbers alike. We'll always be suckers for drama. We create it. We crave it. And those who give it to us, in this world, are exempt from persecution. If anything _they're_ the ones who are worshiped as gods." She reassigned the hand she'd wrapped tightly around his arm to the analyzing the supernatural scar again. It tingled, and she hummed a muffled cry when she touched a bad spot. A scar like any other. No reason to hide it. "I donated quite a bit of blood to the realism of all this."  
  
He shifted and ran his fingers, slowly, down her back. She couldn't help but tense when they reached it too. But he traced it lightly, his mind elsewhere... he was focusing on it. Discreetly double-checking his work. "That you did," he praised. His hand stayed placed protectively over her heart, even as he moved to face her more directly. "I am proud of you, pet. To trust me as you did... and all the while knowing..." He shook his head once. "Your performance was absolutely magnificent."  
  
She smiled. "Your ability to make use of my weaknesses is what's magnificent. And honestly, I can't say it wasn't fun for a while... all the way up until the inevitable death, and all."  
  
He looked down, causing much of his hair to fall in ragged locks over his face. "Your reward shall be your vengeance. This realm will submit to you, completely and willingly..." He locked eyes with her and lowered his tone to stress the importance of the next part. "...so long as you do as I say."  
  
"Yes of course. I have no leadership skills anyway." She waved his lingering doubts away. "Happy to be a figurehead. A puppet, if you will."  
  
His eyes were positively glowing, as his arm snaked around her waist. " _My_ puppet," he sang lowly.  
  
She rolled her eyes back over to his and smiled. "Yes, _your_ puppet." She stood on her toes to meet his fervid kiss, one hand on his chest and the other smoothing back a few of those rebellious locks. But of course they were interrupted. The distinct sound of a quinjet engine fell upon them. It was flying a little too closely for comfort. SHIELD was expanding their search, and it was time for him to go. She gently pushed away to remind him of this. He wasn't quite invincible at the moment.  
  
He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, agreeing with her. He began to step away. "Remember, pet: your ability keeps you from suffering any mortal's actions against your will. And Heimdall's watch keeps you from suffering any _other_ sort of danger you might find." He gave her a confident, charming smile. Then he turned and stalked his way gracefully through the plants and trees, disappearing quickly in the dimly-lit forest.  
  
She sat down cross-legged on the ground and placed her hands on her knees, meditating. Clearing her head. She'd seen Loki do it before. And lately she was beginning to realize that the more she trusted him and his ways, the more powerful she became. She'd probably never feel 'safe' again. But she had something better: the ability to _protect others_. She now had a purpose... and she owed that all to him. About an hour later, off in the distance, a Bifrost beam shot down from the sky. That would keep SHIELD busy for a while. Until _her_ return, that is.  
  
She wanted to put on some clothes, fix her hair, scrub the blood off... she felt disgusting. But she reluctantly conceded to the fact that it would be better to appear to them as-is. She willed herself back to the city, battle-worn but recharged enough to escape. They were waiting for her - the ones she considered her people - though a few had fled the scene in fear of SHIELD and Hydra. Publicity was vulnerability to a gifted. The ones who'd stayed were already surrounded by reporters, police, cameras and camera-phones. The world's incessant need to know what happened. Perfect, she thought. She would give them what they need.  
  
She limped her way, with failing dignity, towards the biggest, nearest store. At least she didn't have to act out the pain, she thought. And Loki could've done so much worse. She stepped slowly and carefully, her legs less-than cooperative. She sighed... and one particularly astute reporter actually heard it. That was the end of her solitude. The others saw him break away from one of the more talkative numbers and rush towards her. Most of them were close behind. Just before she was completely surrounded, she shot her numbers a crafty grin. She got a lot of nods and appreciative smiles back. An instant relief from the pressing, persistent crowds.  
  
"Miss, are you alright?" the stylishly-suited young male reporter asked excitedly. "You're SHIELD's gifted, number 4362, right? What's your name?"  
  
"4372 is fine," she corrected patiently. Apparently nobody had been able to make out her name when Loki said it. Just as well. Her taking possession of the number enhanced the strength of her message.  
  
The fast-talking, overly-friendly TV personality looked like he would argue it for a second, but decided he'd rather not give the other, more experienced reporters the chance to beat him to the good questions. He grinned and agreed... loudly. "4372 it is. First of all, on the behalf of many, I'd like to be the first to convey my gratitude."  
  
"For what?" she asked despondently, her eyes still focused downward.  
   
"You freed the Avengers! You almost died... am I right?"  
  
She stopped moving and made eye contact. He shook his head incredulously and smiled. "You went against _Loki_ , alone and - yes he took you down, but you chased him away forever. You made him see the error of his ways." His smile widened, exposing most of his perfect white teeth. "You seem to have some _other_ kind of power over him..." He let his words trail off, a look of great interest in his eyes.  
  
When she didn't reply the smile faded, and he became visibly worried. They were all very careful to maintain a respectable distance, she noticed... and her reserved expression was probably more of a glare. But he was smart. Unable to interpret her face, he stepped back and regarded her body language. His eyes widened just a bit, and suddenly he began to struggle with his suit jacket. He hastily removed it - leaving him in his light blue dress shirt and dorky suspenders, she noticed. She furrowed her brow as she watched, trying not to let his humorously clumsy actions and attire disarm her entirely. Then he rushed to her two o'clock and held it open at arm's length, offering it to her, with excessive politeness. "May I?"  
  
Warily, she nodded, and turned so he could drape it over her. Several sizes too big, it hung from her like a sheet. But she wrapped it around her, gripping all that excess fabric to her chest to cover herself. Though her postpartum body was a very useful tool  for manipulating their emotions - and she considered it nothing more - she needed to act out a normal level of self-consciousness. Just an average - well, 'gifted' - girl, powerful but not too intimidating. A point Loki had emphasized repeatedly in his instructions. No anger, no rage. And certainly no desire for retribution.  
  
She hadn't failed to notice that the reporter had left his hand there on her shoulder - the price to pay for kindness from his type, she mused. He leaned in and spoke to her as if they were best friends now. Fewer of his questions went unanswered, as the reporters all yelled over eachother.  
  
A female journalist got her attention first. "4372! Is everything they say about you true?" She turned her head that way, looking down in thought. She hadn't been on Midgard long enough to know about all that... " - that you were captured by both SHIELD and Hydra?" She grabbed her cameraman's phone and showed her one of the more well-circulated pictures. A still frame from one of SHIELD's cameras, of her being taken into custody. Being led towards that room by guards, eyes cast down. Disheveled, scared, angry - and much bigger, even, than she'd felt at the time. Asgard wasn't as obsessed with mirrors as they were here. "Is this you?"  
  
She felt the sting of sadness hit again. She had protected that big round belly with _every fiber_ of her being. But it was like a drop of water on desert sandstone. The intelligent rage absorbed it, and burned it all away.  
  
She clutched the jacket to her tighter and nodded, showing only the sadness to them.  
  
While that reporter paused to think, another one took over. "You defended us - ahm - _Midgard_... even after all of that? Are you planning to stay here now?"  
  
Her eyes shifted in that direction until she found him in the crowd. She spoke softly... thanks to all the microphones, she'd be heard no matter what. "Yes. In fact, I'm now officially homeless. Know of any place I can stay?"  
  
"I have a place you can stay." From somewhere behind them all, Coulson had at some point appeared. He strolled towards her, hands in his pockets, with his trademark smile of confidence - only minimally armed. But the agents in full combat gear flanking him had the whole crowd backing away just a bit. He nodded his head in agreement with himself. "It's nice. Fully-furnished, laundry service. Free meals. Recently it's undergone some _very_ pricey upgrades." His demeanor was confusing. The words were intimidating, the expression was neutral. But the tone was nothing but friendly. Genuinely friendly. Like when he was meeting a gifted whom he was inclined to believe was innocent... not her...  
  
He briefly pointed a finger at her. "Just need you to come with us."  
  
She froze up and stared at him, waiting, just waiting for him to make a move. She'd kill him, slowly... publicity be damned. But she wasn't the only one not buying into the act. "Excuse me Sir?" The older one she'd been talking to went from her side to almost directly between them, taking his microphone, cameraman and everything. "Is she under arrest?"  
  
Coulson lifted his gaze to address the encroaching media. He folded his arms and spoke to them frankly. "No. Contrary to popular belief, Mister..." he squinted at him. "Reaves, is it?" He took a breath, making little attempt to hide his exasperation. "Mr. Reaves, SHIELD doesn't arrest people." He kept an eye on her as he spoke. But she stayed there, sporadically answering questions from the less-informed about the situation and watching their exchange at the same time, amused.  
  
"Quite the opposite," he continued. "We'd like to show our appreciation." He offered a handshake to the reporter. "Phil Coulson. Director of SHIELD. We're the good guys..." He furrowed his brow. "I keep having to tell everyone that. There must be some very nasty rumors out there saying otherwise." He looked directly at her again. And now she was truly afraid. If anyone could discover their plan, it was him! She tried to speak, but had to struggle not to spit out any of the long string of expletives that overrode every logical thought in her head.  
  
Coulson locked eyes with her. He saw it all, of course. One of the armed agents, perceiving a possible threat, stepped to the reporter's side, giving him a perfectly clear shot, should the need arise. She tensed, readying herself for escape. Coulson did his best to diffuse the situation. "Let us help you, agent. We'll get you patched up. Make sure you have a job, a place to live..." She glared, unimpressed. So he stopped that line of offers and raised his eyebrows. "Also I have some intel to share. Didn't get a chance to do that, before our last meeting was so rudely interrupted." - by her. She smirked. "But I think you're going to be very glad that I did." He scanned the people nearest him, but ignored their pleading questions. "Sorry..." he whispered to them, " _classified_ intel."

He must have somehow seen that tiny bit of fear in her eyes, because suddenly his expression softened. The man was perceptive, if nothing else. His next words conveyed an honest urgency. "Look, I know you've been through a lot. But I can assure you that no matter how many buildings you blow up, no matter _what else_ you do to us, we won't hurt you..." he moved forward. "That's not our m.o. You of all people should know that..."  
  
"That's right, Mr. Coulson, you won't," the jacketless one interrupted from her side. Coulson shot him a questioning look. "Oh yes, I know her story. The whole story. It's all over the internet..." He let out an awkward laugh. "Probably more than you know. But I think she's earned her freedom by now, don't you?" A couple of his rivals voiced their agreement. Coulson was going to respond, but the younger, louder man overrode him. "And by the way... what is it that _you_ were going to do about Loki this time, sans Avengers?"  
  
Finally she forced out a word to end this. "Wait." She took a few deliberate steps towards Coulson. Despite the carnage she'd shown them before, neither agent made a move to intercept her. So he wasn't trying to take her in after all... and if he feared her, he wasn't showing it. No, those big guns were just a precaution. He regarded her as unstable, she reminded herself.  
  
As quickly and gracefully as possible, she moved in front of the reporter, watching her own legs for signs of faltering. She returned his friendly touch on the shoulder as she passed, which either calmed the mettlesome man or surprised him enough to disrupt his thought process. "I'll hear what he has to say." Once she was face-to-face with Coulson, she looked up with a modest grin. "I've become a bit of an expert at escaping your people, anyway," she taunted. Coulson's cordial smile returned, in precisely the same way it had appeared. Not the poker-face smile. And his eyes reflected it genuinely. He passed her test. They had _not_ , in fact, found a way to counteract her ability... yet. That would have been extraordinarily quick though, even for SHIELD.  
  
She turned around, found her staunchest defender again, and let his jacket start to fall from her narrow shoulders. But he held up a hand. "Keep it... I insist."  
  
Even after being queen of an entire planet for a little while, this treatment in the midst of the media took her by surprise. She stared for a second, then lifted her face to him - in a most queenly manner - and smiled. "Thank you."  
  
Nobody else dared stand between her and Coulson. Save for the two masked gunmen there. She looked them over and asked pleasantly, "Where'd you have in mind?"  
  
"I've got a ride waiting for us just over there." He nodded to his left where, about half a mile past the wall of buildings, the wingtip of a quinjet was visible. Impulsively she grabbed for his exposed wrist. But he deftly whipped it away. His eyes widened in warning, but he overrode it quickly with skilled diplomacy. "I'd rather walk."  
  
She straightened up and leaned away, trying very hard not to laugh. The more brazen reporters were not so kind. He pretended not to notice. "It's a nice day out," he redirected. He carefully moved past her to lead the way around said buildings. It was courteous to walk with him, she decided. She grinned to herself though, and mentally noted that being teleported scared the holy hell out of the prestigious SHIELD Director Coulson.  
  
It was a bit of a challenge to conceal from him the real reason she wouldn't let them take her anywhere. She could see him putting things together, figuring her out. But the fact was, she couldn't really be sure of their goals or motives. She'd no idea if they'd come prepared with some sort of unanticipated leverage, or any one of a wide range of methods still able to subdue her. And she could _not_ escape a moving vehicle of any sort. Velocity.  
  
"I do appreciate your cooperation," he started. He waited politely for her to catch up to him, then sat in the seat opposite hers, other side of the jet's cargo hold. She was just happy to be in a more dignified position... off her feet.  
  
The closest agent's slightly muffled voice came to her through his mask. "May I take your coat, miss?" he asked with smiling eyes, far too graciously to be real.  
  
Coulson saw her hedge. "We need to check it for things. Y'know. Bugs, wires. Explosives," he explained with a somewhat sheepish look. "I suppose that reporter _could've_ just been a very nice guy. But in situations like these, we have to assume the worst." They were actually concerned for her safety, as well as their own. Maybe they thought they could bring her back to them. She'd certainly be a great asset. She scoffed. But she let him take it.  
  
"As you may have suspected, the real reason for the disclosure of this highly-classified intel to someone who could - very logically - be called an enemy of SHIELD, has its roots in our self-preservation."  
  
She eyed the armed agents, faithfully back at his side, as if this were a dinner party and their presence was a terrible faux pas.  
  
"Several operatives within our ranks have been uncovered as Hydra spies." She stared at him expectantly. She'd suspected as much.  
  
"Oh, but these were fairly recent," he specified. "They weren't discovered until after you left the facility. Normally we're pretty good at getting to them before they leak any vital information. But we lost a lot of talent that day." He paused, expecting some expression of guilt no doubt, perhaps even an apology. What he got back was the same stare, with just a hint of a smile in her bright eyes now. That put a few wrinkles in his forehead.  
  
"We're not entirely certain how much information got out before they were caught. It seems that some of them had been assigned to monitor you, work with you... even one of the medical staff was Hydra. Working directly under Daniel Whitehall, no less. You've had the pleasure of meeting him in-person, I believe."  
  
She dipped her head in stern acknowledgement. "I punched him."  
  
He pressed his lips together, but his brief laugh was still audible in the reply. "Is that so?"  
  
"Are you seriously going to tell me that none of your minions noticed a huge black eye on the current face of Hydra?" She gave him a look of severe disappointment.  
  
"Nobody _saw_ him at all..." he stopped himself, leaving an awkward silence. "Anyway. If we're to assume the worst, then Hydra now knows everything. Everything on record, and everything else about you that we had to learn the hard way. I suspect it won't be long before they make a move to recapture you. And since your loyalties are currently in question, I imagine that could only be bad for us. Humanity, that is. Not just SHIELD."  
  
She could see that he was tense. That he'd _been_ tense, probably ever since her most recent escape. Part of her wanted to take advantage of it; to test him. As he spoke, she worked hard to ignore all the numerous ways she kept thinking of to do that, any one of which would catch them all completely by surprise. But the one where she teleported the pilot out her seat and replaced her with the very talented former-stunt-pilot gentleman number made her smile.  
  
He slowed, then stopped his elaborations. He was _very_ uncomfortable with the random expression of glee, and beginning to wonder if she was even listening. But she leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, indicating that she was going nowhere, and listening intently. He started up again with the irrelevant dribble about decisions and protocol. Yes, she yearned to see how much stress Herr Direktor could really take before he broke. But she liked Loki's plan just a little bit better. And a pleasant conversation was fairly easy to fake. She just pretended he was someone else. Someone smart enough not to place protocol and 'priorities' over the life of an unborn child...  
  
"Your concern is duly noted," she stated dryly during a pause in his speech.

She had, in fact, been watching his every little move, every shift of his eyes and every twitch of his fingers. She didn't trust him in the least. This couldn't just be a friendly warning from SHIELD, she thought, as she half-listened to his unsolicited explanation of the discovery of said agents. There was always an ulterior motive with him. Now was the time to draw it out. His behavior was gradually changing... he'd relaxed quite a bit since gaining the home field advantage, as expected. But now his shoulders fell, and he seemed to be having some physical difficulties. She'd been thinking he looked tired - worn out by (his idea of) a stressful few days. But then he sank down and forward, just a few inches, and she could tell by the way he snapped back up that it had been completely involuntary. This was well beyond the norm for any amount of exhaustion. He leaned back against his seat, in an attempt to hide his growing weakness. The symptoms were progressing quickly...  
  
The only medical issue of his that she was privy to was some lingering damage done by the scepter. She knew he had a scar, but nothing of what was under it. Much like hers, and herself. Disturbingly. However, as she compared their cases, she began to slowly realize that she'd been doing the same sort of things. Having started out exhausted, it had been too hard to tell the difference... until now; until she actually looked for it. Something was affecting _them both_. She drew two daggers and leaped from her seat, heedless of the pain - and fell back down into it like a rag doll. Her knees had buckled. Her arms followed soon after, becoming heavy and limp, and all the other muscles in her body seemed to be refusing the orders that her brain was so desperately trying to issue. She could move a few inches, with increasing effort. She turned her head to watch Coulson, who calmly laid his head back onto the cold metal in anticipation of what was to come. Last of all, her strong, stubborn fingers lost their grips, and she dropped both her weapons completely against her will.  
  
A paralytic. In gaseous form. He'd dosed himself along with her, just to be sure she'd follow him here, and wouldn't become aware of the attack until it was too late...  
  
The agents looked at eachother, then got up and moved towards her, cautiously. Their helmets... they had gas masks built-in! They left their guns behind on the seats. They knew damn well what was happening. She willed her body to go back to the streets, where her people would defend her from anyone. But it didn't happen. She tried again, this time powered by panic. She tried so hard her weakened muscles twitched in anticipation, and her mind went there... but it was just as before, right after her surgery. It led to nothing.  
  
Still she tried. She had only seconds before they'd touch her, making it entirely impossible. This time the image that appeared in her head contained moving bodies... the numbers... and they all looked right at her. It was a live image! She was really seeing them; just barely managing to flicker back and forth... as the expressions on the agents' faces confirmed.  
  
They brought that swiftly to an end. One pulled her out of the seat by her arm while the other's hands went to one of the compartments on his vest. She struggled furiously, and flickered once more as she was led, stumbling, past the row of seats towards the cockpit. But it was just like fighting Loki. Strength-versus-strength, it was pointless. Immediately her mind went to the best way to get free in _that_ case. Then, just as she began the maneuver, she found herself pressed face-first against the wall, pinned by her neck. He was almost having to hold her up by it. She was simply too weak to resist.  
  
Suddenly there was a hand pressing hard against her skin, between her shoulders. And then a deep, piercing pain. "What the... hell are you doing!" she squeaked, through increasing discomfort and her pitiful efforts to writhe her way free. The hold wasn't cruelly pressing, but firm - she could still speak. She forced herself to stay calm, and think of a truly compelling threat to issue. But then the pain increased tenfold. It was a needle, and it had hit her spine. She screamed in agony. And then she was released.  
  
Knowing she'd get nothing from the brutish agents, she spun and made a move for Coulson. But she was easily stopped with a flat-palmed hand to her chest. The agent blocked her, causing her to lose what little balance she'd had. She fell. She couldn't do anything at all about what they'd stuck her with now, except fight for information. Pose a serious threat, all the way up until it did what it was going to do.

"It's just a tracking chip... 4372..." Coulson said as calm and clearly as he could, between somewhat labored breaths. "...harmless... but necessary."  
  
There were no words strong enough to convey her swelling rage. So she focused instead on her ability, plotting several heinous methods with which to sate it.  
  
These guys were much better-armored than the previous agents she'd dealt with. Their gloves, arms and legs were all covered in kevlar... they'd learned their lesson from before. Everything but the joints, which had to remain flexible. She stopped herself from wondering if it was just these two or if the whole club now that wore the matching outfits. She would find out soon enough. The flickering resumed as she stood, fuming, shaking. It lasted longer and longer each time, until after a few tries she appeared behind the needle-wielding agent's back. Coulson's eyes widened just as she'd drawn a dagger and turned her vengeful gaze to him. She hadn't the strength to stab, so she pulled her arm back past her shoulder and sliced the back of his neck open. He screamed and grasped at it for a second, then went down. The other one came to his rescue before she could do more, but she backed away, drawing another - and almost falling over several times.  
  
"Wait..." Coulson wheezed. "Let her go."  
  
Then she did fall over. She landed on one knee this time, and jumped right back up again. Wobbly, she screamed at him through the agent. "What the hell, Coulson! Do you people have a _death wish_? Because if you do, I'll be more than happy to grant it!" Understatement of the century.  
  
The agent explained in his place. "We need to track you. We can't hold you very long. That gas is the best we've got for it." He glanced at Coulson for approval, then he shrugged a little. "It's really just a matter of time before one of us figures out a way to hold you permanently. The Council decided they'd rather not take the risk of Hydra doing it first. You can't safely remove that tracker. But when Hydra picks you up, we'll be able to find you. You, and their most tech-advanced base. That's where they'll be taking you, by the way. For experimentation," he elaborated. He sounded almost excited about it, and proud of the fact that they intended to 'save' her again. The guy was the perfect proxy for Coulson. He shook a finger at her. " _And_ I don't recommend you tell them that it's there out of spite, either. I hear they have several rather unscrupulous surgeons in their employ."

"Get. This. Thing. Out of me!" She clawed at her back, but the intense ache of all those muscles verified how deep they'd placed it. Nobody reacted to her demands. So she closed her eyes for a second, opened them right on Coulson's, and spoke instead with a menacing calm. " _Do it_. Or when I recover - from saving you assholes - the first thing I'll do is exterminate all of SHIELD... and _there will be_ nobody to track me."  
  
"I know." Coulson said kindly. He managed a faint smile and raised his eyebrows. "But, we also, might... really need you soon."  
  
_'Need you'_?

The logic was barely noticeable under the burning desire to curl her fingers around the man's neck - only there at all because it pertained to the process directly. Her many failures to prevent this... tagging... had spent her energy all the same. She had maybe one teleport left in her, if she was lucky. But the rage was unrelenting. She'd use her lesser skills to get to him. She ducked in close, directly under the agent's gun where it was hard to reach her, and lunged for him. But she was much slower than she could even perceive. He blocked, and gave her a warning tap with the barrel, sending her to the floor. He looked down at her and frowned. "You can't teleport again, can you?" He avoided a hack at his knee and re-aimed his gun at her. "Well, you may have seriously wounded old Laherty here, but trust me, I'll have no trouble keeping you away from the Director all by myself." He waited for her to get back up, sneered and lowered his voice. "Why don't you just go. Before we change our minds." He knelt down to put pressure on the agent's wound and nodded to the pilot, who opened the cargo bay door.  
  
She was useless. She was hurt. She was not going to be able to prove her point in this condition. So she decided to use the last of that energy to save some face. They had no idea. All she wanted, all she continually sacrificed for, was what was best for her favorite realm. But certain inhabitants were getting very good at finding ways to stoke the fires of rage she'd controlled so well, with the knowledge and wisdom of the Tesseract. Every trauma, every emotion she had to burn away to keep herself sane made her stronger; more determined... more like Loki... but those flames were consuming her humanity.  
  
He watched her inner battle curiously, while he reported the mission's success. He reached out with one hand, seemingly with the intention of touching her, wary of a reaction but too cocky for his own good. When he was one millimeter away from doing so she dropped down, using gravity to attain speed, and the dagger to free the man's hand from his wrist. Then, without even raising her head, she disappeared.  
  
  



	30. Love

A brief flash of her people, her brothers and sisters, all children of war and freedom. Much kinder than she, they still argued with the human authorities and were, as yet, unaware of her return. That was all she got before she passed out... drugged and drained of all energy. She didn't even remember the collapse.  
  
She woke with a start... or would have, if her body were as restless as her mind. She blinked to clear her vision. She could barely move her head, and on top of that her whole body was being pressed against something... somewhat soft. All she could actually see was the arm she faced... a lean, muscular one, covered entirely by a long-sleeved something... some guy was holding her still! Terror gripped her instantly, but she wouldn't allow herself to tense up. It was better for him not to know she was conscious for now. No need to try and assess the likelihood of a teleport. Her ability screamed at her to be used; to get the hell out of there before more than that would happen! She mentally prepared for her escape. But the calm and focus required to do that forced her to clear her head just enough... She was able to look past her creepy captor's arm, as much as she could, and realize she was on an airplane. Or rather, a jet. A SHIELD jet. Specifically, the one that had been hijacked by her and the other numbers. That would've been quite the fatal mistake.  
  
A soft, timid male voice could be heard amongst the casually-scattered crowd, stating simply, "She's awake."  
  
She couldn't bring to mind exactly who that was, but he must have _sensed_ her waking up, because her favoritest freak didn't have that ability, and he was the one who whipped around in his seat. He sat in the row in front of her, one seat over, and peered through the spaces between to see her face. Or rather, so she could see his...  
  
Even upon recognizing him, his appearance was startling. His eyes were all-black, no sclera, no pupil. Still, it calmed her. Whomever held her now would be all sorts of dead if they were trying to harm her at all.  
  
He was a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper colored hair, but lots of inexplicably-positive energy. He effortlessly lifted the morale of those around him. His eyes made it so you could never tell when he was looking at you. But it didn't matter, because it was never _just you_ he saw. He could see through anything, as much or as little as he wanted to, even multiple layers of matter at the same time. He called it - and himself, when asked - 'Absolute Sight'. He used to be a doctor. It was a personal rule of hers never to ask what a number did to get on SHIELD's bad side. But he'd never volunteered it, either.  
  
He pointed at her with an open hand and turned his head low, giving the others some very self-confident attitude about something. "Aaaand there's the proof, right there," he said. "You're all just going to have to learn to _live with_ the fact that I'm never wrong. I said she was going to be okay, and she is." He turned back to her, his eyes extra-shiny with joy. Then he looked around, leaned his seat back all the way, putting his face close to hers, and whispered. "You _are_ okay, right?"  
  
She gave him a shaky smile. In spite of everything, of where she'd been and where she was headed, he could always make her smile. She'd only known the man for a few days, but already he'd kind-of... adopted her. Her and anyone else without any kind of real family to speak of. Her strength was steadily returning. She tried to lift her head. Slowly, she looked up to see whose chest she was pressed to. And was greeted with a knowing smirk. "Hello, pet."  
  
Loki! But he looked... disheveled. He had a few cuts and bruises, his hair fell in random, loose waves, and in his eyes she saw defeat. But there was the slightest spark of mischief in them too. It wasn't entirely real. The plan had taken a detour, but it seemed to be back on track. Somehow he'd been able to convince them, _by himself_ , to look past that nefarious grin and trust that he was on their side. That he'd only come for his mortal queen, and that his only desire was to protect her; hopefully convince her to return with him to Asgard. Well... he was quite 'silver-tongued'. He looked down at himself. "Apologies for my appearance. My... hasty attempt to reach you alarmed your comrades here, and we suffered a bit of disagreement." The plan had been for him to return and find his brother first. But once again, SHIELD had fucked things up. She was beginning to wonder if it was possible Coulson had figured it all out... but even if that were the case, they still had to be several steps ahead.  
  
It took some effort to reach up and touch his damaged cheekbone, where an obviously-heavy blow had split the skin. But he gave her a reassuringly-sly look. Finally, she was able to look around. Loki wore relatively blood-free armor except for his helmet - which was probably still at the top of Stark Tower, she realized with a crafty grin. She, on the other hand, had since been covered by a brand-new hoodie - leaf-green no less... stolen, for sure. She'd already expressed the non-existence of her concerns regarding what the numbers took from the dominating majority around them. 'Just don't get caught'. Not much of a problem, for most of them. And if anybody _did_ catch one... well they should just be glad they're taking hoodies, not lives. Her voice crackled back into audibility. "Where are we going?"  
  
The shy guy was the one to answer. "That building you were going to show us..." He stood up from his seat several rows down. But upon seeing her face he averted his eyes, looking like he'd done something terrible. "I know... that you don't really _want_ to go there, but you were so close to saying it anyway... right before you passed out. So I got it out of your head. I - I'm sorry." The recently-abandoned Hydra office complex. Damaged, but defensible, and completely undercover. It was probably the best place to go.  
  
"No, that's fine! I'm glad you did," she assured him. "Thank you." She moved to sit up, and Loki put a hand on her back to help. She settled in his lap and grinned. "And thank _you_ , My King. I'm sure the escape was somewhat dicey."  
  
He gave her a modest grin and nodded towards the telepath. "This one was responsible for verifying my true intentions. His skill is much more... specialized, than mine."  
  
They needed to push forward; expedite the plan before SHIELD tried to recapture them, especially Loki, she thought... Oh god, the tracker! "They put a tracker in me!" she blurted out.  
  
"What!" The muscular young man who called himself 'Flex' - for other reasons - had been listening quite intently.  
  
"SHIELD... when I went with Coulson. As long as I'm with you, his people can locate us... We can't go there." She stood up, and Loki's hands moved with her, guarding in case she would fall. But she didn't need his help to do so now. She practically ran to the cockpit. There was very little pain left from their battle. Loki must have healed her some while she was out. Urgently, she explained the situation to the pilot. And while they spoke, her people began to accumulate around them, listening in.  
  
"Well let's just remove it then. Toss it out the plane," Flex tentatively suggested. "Where is it?"  
  
"It's... somewhere in my back." She reached back and pressed painfully on the injection site. "I can't tell exactly where, but it's deep. It hurt way more than it should have..." Her mind returned to obsessing over why that was. It could have been anything. Especially if they thought it would keep them from having to physically fight the threat. Their cowardice knew no bounds.  
  
Sight's ebony eyes narrowed with the same abhorrence, but his mouth stayed tightly shut. He was staring _through_ her. Slightly uncomfortable with the idea, she tried to think of other things... like Loki's sudden expression of intrigue. He could hear everything from his seat, of course. He watched them all, silently intimidating, no matter the distance he kept. Many heads turned his way when he got up and moved to join them.  
  
"I can see it," Sight stated with a sigh. He squinted further. "It's _inside_ her spine." He considered it for a moment, then shook his head forebodingly. "I don't have that kind of skill..."  
  
The youngest of them all -and quite the genetic oddity - a little girl named Chloe, spoke up. "Brianna can do it!" She seemed surprised at herself, as the simple idea brought the whole group's attention to her. "It... it got in there somehow, right? So she can get it out." Her wide eyes darted from one to the other. Hearing no objections, she scurried to the back of the plane where the older number sat, isolated by a big cushion-y pair of headphones. But not for long. That girl controlled electronics.  
  
Brianna followed Chloe back to them - loudly, demanding details from her the whole way there. She quieted in the presence of Loki... but nodded kindly to 4372, who peeled up the hoodie and turned. She couldn't help but flinch when Sight touched lightly between her shoulders, to point out more precisely where it was. Brianna was a multi-substance telekinetic, nothing more. There was no way this wasn't going to hurt.  
  
Loki stayed within view, arms folded. His eyes moved impossibly fast from one subject of assessment to the other, but he was poised and polite, even looking down every once in a while to avoid the gaze of those numbers still suspicious of his intentions. There was some pain in her head at first. After only a few minutes it was joined by a sharper one like before, and then it was a pounding, dizzying migraine. She closed her eyes. She hummed in lieu of crying out, but she could only do that for so long. When she did slip up Loki came closer... calmly, but clearly alarmed. He gently placed a hand onto her shoulder.  
  
She was drawing the chip out, that much was clear. But as Brianna continued, the pain was rapidly becoming unbearable. Finally she couldn't help but scream again. At that the efforts stopped, and all but the headache subsided. "Honey I'm sorry, I just can't do it. They must've sealed it in, with something strange... can't tell the difference between all that and your bones."  
  
The numbers sighed and paced, brainstorming, until the pilot interrupted. "You want me to put 'er down then?"  
  
"No..." She gazed into nothingness as she pulled the hoodie back down, stitching together the facts and possibly part of an idea. "Anywhere we land, they'll surround us. SHIELD has operatives everywhere. We won't be able to sit still, _not ever_..." She plopped back down in a random seat and leaned forward, placing her fingers over her lips. She knew what she _should_ do. They all did. But she would not part with her people. She'd set them free in this world, and she'd protect them until the very end. And what she _wanted_ to do was only clouding her judgment. All that was far from acceptable.  
  
Loki had drifted away, hands behind his back, eyes down in thought. But suddenly he spoke up. "I believe you venture now, unwittingly, into _my_ realm of expertise." Every eye went to him.  
  
He addressed them all equally, with open hands and an advisory tone, as if they were his council. "Most of Midgard's populous seems... appreciative, of your actions. Some even admire the collective personality of this small and mighty army of yours, yes?"  
  
She wasn't entirely sure of that. She looked around for confirmation. Sight stood closest, and he made a discerning nod. Looking at the ones who'd spoken more extensively with the citizens, they seemed to agree with that.  
  
He continued with increased confidence. "There is but one faction which opposes you, and their reasoning is somewhat... ill-founded, in the public eye." He held his head up high, declaring, "It is time to display your superiority. But only by way of a message. There are many ways to do so without upsetting the rest of your people, while at the same time ensuring that your message is... _unmistakably_ clear."  
  
Suddenly she knew exactly how to do that... and to use their latest offense against them. "You know what... If they want to track me, let them track me. We'll play connect-the-dots." Her words and cryptic smile had won them over already. There was a bright, calculated certainty in her eyes. "The game begins in Dayton, Ohio..." she instructed the pilot. "...just like I did."  
  
Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. One of many worldwide, government-run facades which were actually built to hide and house the more long-term operations of SHIELD. And the place where her life's work had first taken its rather sharp turn for the weird.  
  
The Council always had the final say during any sort of infiltration or attack. And that particular group of people was notorious for knowing when to cut their losses. Ergo, all SHIELD facilities had one thing in common: some sort of built-in self-destruct.  
  
She told the pilot to just go right ahead and use a runway. No need to request permission; Sight could see all nearby aircraft. No need to be stealthy or deceitful. This was, on no level, a diplomatic visit.  
  
A select few were chosen for the missions. The rest remained on high alert, for the inevitable attack on their temporary place of living. Just about everyone wanted a piece of SHIELD, but the team needed both the required expertise and the ability to defend itself. Heavy on the defensive side. Because their leader this time was a red-headed, freckly little ten-year-old technological savant.  
  
Chloe reminded her of herself at that age: friendly but wary, independent... and way too mature for a kid. Her clever, manipulative nature freaked some of the others out sometimes. But she'd only ever learned the skills that were necessary for her survival.  
  
Before the jet had even come to a complete stop, it was surrounded by men with large guns, and a very forceful warning could be heard throughout the base. "Unidentified aircraft! You are trespassing on government property. Pilot and all passengers will exit and surrender immediately, or we will board and detain with lethal force." That seemed a little harsh. They'd probably identified it as hijacked as soon as the pilot had failed to respond.  
  
"Try not to kill anyone," she modestly requested of its eagerly-awaiting residents and defenders. She peered from number to tight-fisted number and grinned. "But... don't let them scratch the paint." The fuselage erupted in a cacophony of excitement. Not that they'd needed her endorsement. They'd all lost freedom, family, even limbs to the operatives of SHIELD and Hydra alike. Many were quite anxious to destroy them.  
  
Loki approached her silently, an intense air of purpose about him. Bigger things were on his mind.  
  
He stepped up close, dropped his head down over her shoulder and spoke into her ear. "My Queen... I'm afraid I must take my leave. This battle is yours, after all. I dare not intrude upon your victory." She could hear the smirk in his otherwise alarmingly-dark voice. She furrowed her brow, and was going to ask why, when he stated coldly, "I have other matters to attend to."  
  
That... wasn't like him. He tried not to show it (and she tried not to see it) but he'd always been overprotective. It wasn't until recently that she'd stopped considering it an insult to her toughness and intellect, choosing instead to see it as kind of... cute. She tried not to sound too concerned. "Where will you go, My King?"  
  
"I must seek a certain mind. If my suspicions are correct it will be here, on Midgard." He touched the side of her face. "As is my queen. The closer I am, the more clearly I can sense when you are in distress." Suddenly he pulled back, and his gaze fell slightly. He slipped his hand behind her, and stopped right over the device. "Had I stayed, they'd never have had the chance to do this. If they find another way to harm you I'll return, the power of the Bifrost my steed, and fight by your side until you're safe."  
  
His low and resonant voice cut through the escalating noise from the numbers' lively discussions. But hers, she feared, would not. So she just nodded to him, smiling slightly. Whatever he had to do, she trusted him to honor their agreements. Mostly. She banished all doubts from her mind, instead going over the task at hand, and picturing the look on Coulson's face when he received that first call... it made her smile more genuine; more devious. When she looked back up, he seemed to be reveling in the sight. His expression changed quickly in kind.  
  
She held her arms out, and each of the chosen four applied a hand. Well, three and a half. It was just slightly more difficult than teleporting an Asgardian.  
  
They appeared in the only place she remembered well. The lab. The scientists working there stopped and stared, in shock, until a few of them recognized her and decided to make a move. She drew her daggers, and Brianna drew from various points in the room a handful grisly-looking instruments. They stopped in their tracks, reconsidering their course of action now. They were all too familiar with the destructive power of numbers. Their young leader, looking up at her, tapped her arm and smiled sweetly. "We need to find the control room."  
  
Sight was already looking around, his black eyes squinting and widening, scanning from side to side as if he were reading a book. "There," he pointed through a wall. 4372 took them as far as she could in that direction. But as a physiologist, she'd had no business being in that section of the base, and her accuracy always decreased with the familiarity of each location. The last thing she wanted was to do was put them into a situation they couldn't handle. They traveled the rest on foot. Flex and Brianna made quick work of what little opposition they encountered in the hallways, and of course, Sight could always see them coming.  
  
Chloe waited patiently for the others to clear the room. Thanks to 4372's reputation, it didn't take much. They're probably more concerned about letting Coulson know I'm here, she mused.  
  
The otherwise-calm little girl then ran, excitedly, to one of the computers. She crawled underneath its desk where all the actual high-tech stuff was. She didn't need a monitor. She delicately placed one small finger on a USB port, and the screen just sprung to life. They watched as multiple program windows and text boxes opened and closed at once with impossible speed. After only a minute or so, she announced, "It says it'll do it in five minutes, that's the fastest it can go."  
  
"Good." She'd wanted to give the agents - the smart ones at least - a chance to escape anyway. "Wait, why isn't it counting down?"  
  
"It is!" she corrected somewhat defensively, poking her head out from under the desk. "Want me to tell it to do it out loud?"  
  
She sighed, relieved. "Yes please." Flex gave her a curious look, to which she shrugged. She despised the organization, not the people. Break them down, take that heady power away from them, and they become no more threatening than everybody else.  
  
A deceptively-pleasant-sounding announcement overtook all the other messages and alarms that had been activated upon their discovery. "Emergency self-destruct in: four, minutes".  
  
"Path is still clear... for the most part," Sight announced suggestively, staring through the wall in the direction of the jet. But she held out her arms again and took them all back, avoiding the surrounding fight entirely. The pilot had been waiting for them. He yelled out the cargo bay door before his return to cockpit. "Load up. This bus leaves the second my ass hits the seat."  
  
Those still having to suppress some of the more stubborn personnel quickly piled back in, but most were already on board. They'd all heard the ominous announcement. Why they were still being attacked at all was beyond her. They secured themselves in various ways as the pilot deftly avoided any airborne attempts to stop them. But those with good sea-legs moved quickly to the windows... them and 4372. What she saw then was priceless. Totally worth the three times she fell over getting there.  
  
Agents were running in multiple directions, fleeing the base's buildings like the hive-mind insects they were. They spread out and away from the structures just before they crumbled, simultaneously... all the way down to the ground. A very thorough self-destruct system - intended to eliminate all attackers, devices and evidence in an otherwise desperate situation.  
  
After a little while the aircraft stabilized, and she loosened her white-knuckle grip on the back of the seat she had. The pilot must have activated the cloaking tech. They all exchanged satisfied grins. That sight had been just... breathtakingly beautiful, the effect they'd had so devastating already... and they would get several chances to do it again. How many exactly depended only on how hard Coulson worked on figuring out what they were doing.  
  
They hit facility after facility, carving a very specific path across the globe. It was _her_ path; all the places she'd ever been sent to, to help SHIELD spy on gifteds, meet up with them directly, or root them out of their hiding places. In perfect chronological order. They were unstoppable, and the message to Coulson became _painfully_ obvious after only three or four of those death-laced financial blows.  
  
Unfortunately, the news teams put the pieces together just a little faster than Coulson could snatch them away. And they were all over it.  
  
Hers was a compelling story, he supposed. Some of the reports painted her as menacing, mentally unstable and dangerous to the public. There had been some casualties. But he hadn't failed to notice that, in each case, she was sure to give them ample warning... The majority of the media of course chose the brighter, more attention-grabbing colors of a vigilante. A righteous paladin, using her unstoppable army of the wronged to eliminate the power the bureaucracy had over them all. A dark hero. It gained them more followers, too.  
  
He slammed the phone down in frustration after that last attack report. There was something to be said for the old phones with receivers, he mulled, as he pulled a tablet from his inner coat pocket. He found the website of the news station closest to that base of operations, and forced himself to sit back down, his hand securely plastered to his mouth. It finished loading right in the middle of an on-scene report. "...at the site of the most recent attack. Sources say this is all part of a _much larger_ crusade to eliminate - or at least _seriously_ debilitate - the mysterious multi-government agency known as SHIELD. The group responsible for the attacks has made no attempt to conceal its identity. It's being led by the gifted called 4372, who just days ago was largely responsible for the sudden and unexpected retreat of Loki and his army." They switched to a clip of a conspicuously-flickering Loki projection in Tokyo, which was ordering his soldiers to stop.  
  
"I believe they prefer to be called 'numbers', Jan," the male anchor in the studio quipped. Coulson resisted the urge to get violent with this device too.  
  
Instead he simply glared at the image, and navigated away from it to find a better station. But the next few he found were doing exactly the same thing. Humanizing her. "...someone with an unfortunate past, and a reputation for resisting authorities. Every one of her attackers, from the deranged fellow scientist she debated in college, to the current king of Asgard, has fallen in one way or another to the shrewdly charming, darker personality. Many local support groups have requested to _join_ hers, strengthening the numbers' actions against what they view as an oppressive majority-run society. The _original_ members, however, claim to be former detainees of SHIELD, though no record of any of those arrests exists. This... lack of information has given rise to several politically-charged internet movements against the agency, the most well-known of which have roots in the 'whoknew4372' websites."  
  
He turned off all that media circus business, and pulled up the tracker's monitor. It was just as he'd suspected. Their current path suggested they were on their way to Berlin. He'd already warned the operatives there... and the next place the former agent had gone. Message received. He calmed himself, and re-summoned the Council's satellite feed to the device. "So, you see what's going on now. 4372's made some friends. Extremely high-risk as individuals, and just plain dangerous as a group." He sighed. "She's amassing an army she can't control. And she still can't even admit the possibility that she's been..." he scoffed at the insufficient terminology. "... _severely_ compromised, by Loki. She won't stop with SHIELD, or even with Hydra. She won't be able to stop, and soon we won't be able to help her out with that." He looked down and thought for a second, about what he _had to_ say. "Permission to engage with defense measure 'All Stops'."  
  
There was a long pause as they all silently spoke to each other, digitally excluding him from such an important decision.  
  
"I think we can leave that to your discretion, Director," the bald one admitted sincerely. They actually trusted his judgment on this. "Permission granted."  
  
Target number five. It was definitely her favorite so far. Coulson had figured out the pattern, and it was clear that the Lijiang facility had been warned of the impending attack. They tried so - comically - hard to prevent them from going anywhere on foot... not a thing they could do about teleporting though. She'd always taken great pleasure in hearing all the frantic orders, curses and other interjections of shock each time they appeared. To those who recognized them, they were the harbingers of chaos, all evil and menacing-looking... except for one adorable little girl, whom they defended _most_ aggressively. But also, there was something special about infiltrating a facility in which the personnel spoke almost exclusively a language she did not. It left to one's perception only the raw _intent_ behind each vocalization. Emotions. Frustration, anger, bravado. And many different levels of fear.  
  
The facility hadn't changed much, and she'd been all over it before. But it was huge. By the time they neared the control room her daggers and hands were bloodied, and the others were tense from the constant onslaught. They all wore exhausted grins, except for Chloe, who was no less excited than usual about meeting a new kind of system. She ran ahead down the hastily-vacated hallway towards the door... which was not only unlocked, she realized just a bit too late, but _open_...  
  
Just then an imposing-looking gentleman made his appearance, casually stepping out into the hallway. Chloe ran head-first right into him. He looked down at her with an expression of mild surprise as she jumped back, gawking... but before he could even think of taking another step 4372 was there, a few inches from his face, a fiery expression of warning on hers and a dagger pressed lightly to his gut.  
  
Like most of the personnel he was Chinese, but this one was conspicuously well-dressed. He held some sort of rank over them, but he was still far calmer than he should be, having surely been informed of who they were. He was unarmed, his hands simply folded in front of him, and as Chloe darted back to the safety of the group, he nodded a respectful greeting. “Nǐ bìxū shì 4372." Nobody there understood him, and he knew it. But 4372 studied him carefully nevertheless, gaining from his tone and demeanor the impression he was trying to convey. "Zhè shì yīzhǒng róngyù, yào yībùfèn gāi xiāoxī de shì nǐ sòng de zhǔrèn." Okay.... Wary intelligence, but not fear. Kindness... perhaps a bit overdone, almost sardonically. But he had no intention of stopping them. So she stepped away, eyeing the open door.  
  
He bowed to her completely, leaving only a hand up, to indicate their free access to their systems. "Qǐng..." Right before his face lowered out of view though, she noticed the stoic expression beginning to give way to a smirk. That could not be good.  
  
She tore her eyes away from him and stealthed forward, to check the room for any _more_ sneaky ninjas. What she saw was decidedly, exponentially worse. Her eyes unmoving, she motioned for the others to keep their distance. Then she tightened her grip on those gleaming, bloodthirsty daggers, and moved in to confront the new threat.  
  
Every one of the monitors that lined the walls displayed some part of the maze they'd been navigating, including where her friends stood in the hallway. Sight was relaying to them what was going on in there, and Flex took a step towards the door. It was full of well-known sharpshooters, combat experts, and agents from other teams she didn't recognize. They were breaking out the big guns. Finally. The central figure, rising up from his swivel chair in front of one of the monitors, was Coulson himself. He was holding something, all bundled up, in a blanket so big the ends of it fell down to his knees. It was a baby. The suit-clad, snake-eyed master spy was cradling a sleeping child in his arms, lovingly, as if it were his own. "Hello there, 4372." He raised his eyebrows. He was a little more testy than he usually let people see, and dead serious about what he was there to say. "I'd _prefer_ to call you agent Iversen, but... well," he narrowed his eyes. "you're not really _her_ anymore, are you?"  
  
She paled, an instinctive dread taking all her words away.  
  
"Believe me, I do know the reason for the attacks. And I can't say I completely blame you for being angry. When such a tragedy happens, it's only natural to look for someone to blame. But this... is a _bit_ of an overreaction, don't you think?" He paused, expecting a reply. He received none.  
  
"Anyway. _Regarding_ that tragedy... I'm afraid we haven't been completely honest with you." He pulled down the edge of the blanket, revealing the baby's tranquil face. She gasped. Blue skin, jotun markings... wait, she thought. _Think_ about it. It could still be a trick. A very cruel, senseless trick... the likes of which she'd yet to see from them. But they were probably pretty desperate.  
  
As if he'd read her mind, Coulson looked down and used a few fingers to lightly smooth back the child's fine, black hair. "Wake up, sweetie." Slowly, it opened its eyes. Human eyes. Green. A very recessive trait.  
  
She drew in a sudden, violent breath. She'd not been breathing ever since seeing the face of the tiny, fragile being in his arms. Logic be damned. If there was _even a chance_ he wasn't lying...  
  
She began to quiver slightly, and at that Flex darted forward, Sight not far behind. Chloe stared, a combination of fear and sadness on her face, as Brianna hugged her tightly to her hip. She hadn't even noticed them in the doorway. And none of the superfluous staff seemed to care.  
  
Flex lightly touched her shoulder, to get her attention, as Sight issued a gentle warning. "Noooo..."  
  
Coulson stepped up to her, unafraid and surrounded by guns, all of which had been aimed precisely the second that she'd appeared. The others backed away from it all, but wouldn't leave the room. Now only five feet away - just out of reach - he looked her up and down. She probably didn't look too stable. She never was right after an instinctive, uncontrollable relocation such as the one the Chinese guy had inspired, and this... He furrowed his brow, concerned. "I didn't really _want_ to do this, mind you. But the Council was absolutely right. The only way we're ever going to win, with you, is by playing dirty pool."  
  
Finally she burst. "YOU DID THIS! You made me this way... with your self-righteous, stupid attempts to _keep me_ from _being this way_!"

He was unfazed. But the baby began to fuss a little, and he rocked it gently in his arms. "Yeah, that whole thing kind-of backfired on us once Loki became more... involved."  
  
She put her hands down slowly, patting the air at her sides, calming herself and some of the rest of the room. Logic. She needed to think this through. "Sorry _Coulson_..." she sneered. "I'd like to think that you're above that - genetically altering a human child. But you continually disappoint me in that respect. So, I'm going to need a little better proof than what you've shown me here so far."

With his free hand he motioned to one of the agents between them, who produced a tablet, pressed a button on it and handed it to her. She took it slowly, with a suspicious glare. It was a video of her in the med ward... unconscious, surrounded by agents, strapped down... knees up... and her baby being pulled from her body. Weak, but very much alive. She slapped her hand over her mouth, prompting several jumpy gunmen to readjust their aim. The shock, the rage, and the overwhelming happiness of seeing that it was real... that _she_ was real... she began to cry into her hand, and shake, and had to focus to keep from teleporting in there, to take her child from the thieving hands of SHIELD.  
  
The agent took it back and, her attention now torn from the image, she raised her eyes to Coulson. "Oh, don't worry," he reassured her softly, minimizing the taunting tone that usually accompanied that statement. "We've been taking good care of her. We'll have to keep her isolated for a while longer, until we're certain she can fight off all of Earth's pathogens. Her physiology is a little more unique than we'd planned for. At the moment her immune system is slightly compromised, having never received the antibodies from mother's milk." No, it _was_ a taunt. A purposeful tug on her heartstrings... the few she hadn't snapped.  
  
She wiped her eyes - pointlessly - sniffled, and glared at him. Her strength for negotiations was waning. "So what's _her_ number?"  
  
"She doesn't get a number," he explained. "She's not a gifted." He put his face within reach of the tiny blue hand, exaggerated his smile and baby-talked the rest. "She's a little goddess... yes she _is_." He squinted as she grabbed at his big nose, smiling.  
  
This was not part of the plan.  
  
She ignored her own weakness... hoping they could do the same. "Are you threatening to kill her, Coulson?" she hissed. "Cause if you do that, you know, it's _instant death_ for you all. I'll destroy this whole diseased planet with the Bifrost. Perhaps I should have done that when I left."  
  
He stared for a second, appalled. "Of course not! I'm... kind-of attached to her, actually." He didn't even acknowledge the very potent threat. He looked down at her baby again - this time with a strong sense of regret - and looked away. "Still willing to make a deal, though. For the good of everyone." His voice regained authority. "Stop the attacks, and come with us peacefully. Let us take you _both_ into protective custody. I believe we've discovered a way to suppress your ability... limit the distance, by maxing out the... um -" He turned to an unarmed agent beside him and whispered. "What was the other factor?"  
  
"Density."  
  
"Density," he repeated cheerfully. "It's completely non-invasive, and as long as you're cooperative that's all it'll be. Suppression." He leveled his gaze at hers, letting the sincerity of his words sink in for a moment. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Of course, the accommodations aren't anything like before. I wasn't kidding about the upgrades."  
  
She found herself... actually considering it.  
  
"If it's still 'no deal', then... well..." He gazed down fondly, then gave her a big grin. "I was thinking I'd raise her myself. Set up a whole nursery - underground of course, so she'll be safe from any more of these little acts of vengeance." He chuckled. "You know, I think that's the only thing I never pictured myself doing. Who'dve thought, huh?"  
  
She had no more pride. No self-respect, no will, no dignity. All she had was the need to hold her baby. Every mental resource she possessed went there. But there was no other solution for this. Not when it came to her child. And so, reluctantly, she gave in. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself to fall victim to the flood of emotions. It was what they wanted to see, and it was only exhausting her to keep it all at bay. She dropped the daggers onto the floor, and fell to her knees between them. Before she started to cry again she lowered her head, the falling hair a slightly-less-obvious way to obscure her reddened face. Defeated, she said softly, "Anything."  
  
The agents who'd been stealthing up on her for a while now stopped, startled, unsure of what to do. Even Coulson seemed surprised. "Pardon?"  
  
"Anything, Director. I'll do anything you want. Just... please." Her head stayed down. But her hands formed angry fists. The agents were on the move again, guns down, and one sneaked up to take possession of the daggers that lay on the floor.  
  
Cooperation. That was the deal. She needed to stay cool, keep calm... or she'd never see her daughter again.  
  
One of them knelt on her ankles, the way the security agent had done before. She flickered out of the room in response, fearing that position, but otherwise stayed perfectly still. Even as they pulled her arms back - less than gently - and manipulated her wrists into a set of handcuffs. It wasn't the same this time. She could always get out of it now, she thought. But she _wouldn't_.  
  
She wasn't going anywhere without her daughter, and she wouldn't risk her coming to harm during any form of attack; any attempt to take her away from them. They both knew it. The other agents, perhaps, weren't so sure. Their guns were much closer now, because of the involuntary half-a-second teleport. But that had been Coulson's plan all along. His ultimate, end-all play. Faced with an unbeatable threat, he'd found a way to make her _want_ to comply instead, with another kind of weapon; with the last of her humanity... with love.


	31. The Greater of Two Evils

SHIELD... had finally won. With this move they weren't just ending the wrath of the killer queen. Taking her in meant more protection from _him_. Insurance. Before, if they'd ever _really_ let the alien-hybrid child die, their emotionally-based defense from Loki would've been nullified, instantly. Now they had the mother too. Increasing the likelihood of survival - for them _both_ , actually - and decreasing Loki's willingness to mount an all-out attack. She hated herself for giving in so easily. But she felt she had no choice.  
  
To recapture some of the former numbers at large would've been a fabulous bonus, of course. But after trying for ten minutes or so, using the facility they'd rescued as a base, the hope for that had diminished noticeably.  
  
She'd stayed there on her knees the whole time, meditating, recharging... keeping a tight lid on the roiling hysteria inside. She kept telling herself she was waiting; just _waiting_ for any opportunity to safely take her baby back... however illogical that was.  
  
Without even looking at him she could see that the unexpected stoicism was beginning to bother Coulson. All he saw were signs that she'd fully accepted her capture. Not like her at all. Muscles relaxed, face expressionless. Her deadened eyes shifted slowly, focusing only briefly to follow the occasional movements of the man who held her child.  
  
The jet was fully cloaked in a strategically-chosen spot nearby, of course. One she was glad they couldn't find. She hoped they knew not to come back in for her. Even the strongest could be overwhelmed by the number of guns in that building. But all of a sudden she was alone again, being forced to submit to another's will. She wanted nothing more than to hold her daughter. To see her, up close; the embodiment of love and strength in that green-eyed, beautifully-marked face. For a moment, in her delirium, she thought she'd recognized a faint leathery, herbal scent. But there was no logic to back that up, either.  
  
One of the uncomfortably-close agents, she noticed, had been receiving some sort of reports via headset. But by the time she'd isolated his voice there was only his curt reply. "Understood." Spoken with a reticent hint of surprise.

Suddenly her captors decided that the utterly defenseless position she was in wasn't good enough. The one who'd received the orders crouched behind her, pinning her ankles down with one hand for good measure. The other he placed on her head, pulling it back into his shoulder, gaining complete control of her body. Her breaths quickened slightly, but she relaxed and squeezed her eyes shut in response. Stay cool, she thought. Coulson's a lot of things, but not a purposeful kidnapper. You will have her back, just as soon as they're sure you're cooperating. Then someone stuck a needle into her throat. Her eyes shot open and she bucked hard against the agent, away from the pain, but he held her still. Before she could protest, the contents were deep inside... at which point, she discovered, she _couldn't_!

Coulson seemed... agitated. It caused the baby to start squirming again, making little sounds to voice her displeasure. They were so melodic to the ears of her mother... it made her eyes well up. Each glimpse of her and every sound she made reminded her not to fight them. But that was the only sign she'd give for him to analyze. Tersely, he questioned their actions. "I thought we'd agreed not to do that. This is a _diplomatic_   - "  
  
"Sorry, Sir," the one at her back interrupted. "Standing orders from the Council. We have reason to believe that Loki is in the vicinity."  
  
Loki!  
  
The flash of alarm in Coulson's eyes was barely perceptible, and he hid even that very well. He turned and leaned in toward one of the monitors, placing a careful hand behind the child's head as he did. He issued hasty orders. "Notify home base. Bring in the forensics and search teams and redirect all security personnel to the perimeter. Verbal IFF is in effect for the facility; and nobody gets into this room, period. _Find him_ , people... before he finds us."

When Loki did show, her silence would make it a lot more difficult to signal him, tell him anything that happened... ask him to murder them all. They'd try their hardest to bring him in too... he might even take her baby somewhere else at the last minute, and she wouldn't be able to tell him that! But none of this mattered, she reminded herself, casually adjusting the handcuffs so they didn't hurt her back so much. The more emotional she became, the more quickly he could find them. And Loki would get her back.  
  
"Sir? Are you alright?" Someone else had noticed, even before she did, that Coulson had stiffened up. He wasn't moving at all; his head held still, his jaw clenched and his face frozen in an expression of... dismay? He still held her daughter, securely, but his free hand went quickly behind his back... to draw a weapon, she thought. Then Loki flickered into perception right behind him, his long arm already wrapped tightly around the one Coulson held her with. It was he who'd pinned back the other.  
  
Loki's eyes darted around the room, making sure no one intended to do anything stupid now that he was visible to them all. He held a cautious composure, but his voice was quite low with contempt. "So, the Son of Coul. Friend of Thor, and Captor of the Queen - still lives." The baby's fussing broke into loud crying as Coulson tried to keep both her and himself calm, clutching her to him just a little more snugly. "Well, I have a better bargain to make. Hand me the child now, and I will accept your terms in her stead. I shall have no need to set foot in this... miserable pit of snakes, again," he spat. "However. If you force me to _take her_ _from_ you... I'll be sure to employ more thorough methods this time, and rectify the error that is your existence."  
  
Coulson forced an amiable smile, careful not to move much more than that. "Interesting proposition. Unfortunately, that's not for me to decide. If you like I can put you in touch with the Council..." He raised his eyebrows and added, with an uncomfortable laugh, "But I should let you know that I'm really not that valuable to them."  
  
Loki smiled, scoffing at the man's attempted bravery. "It seems I've not made my meaning clear. No, you will see them _all_ suffer..." He nodded, indicating the other agents as he took on a more menacing tone. "...under tortures the likes of which you've not the _capacity_ to imagine." He looked down at Coulson's hand and sneered as he shoved it away, with enough force to throw him a little off-balance. But he stepped in closer, readjusting his grip on the arm and his child, and slapped his hand onto his forehead, instead.  
  
Coulson's eyes went wider than ever seemed possible, practically popping out of his head. The only sound he made then was a strangled gasp, as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He stared into space, drowning in fear as Loki's eyes bored into him, dominating his mind, and a cruel grin spread across his lips. When he finally removed it, it was like Coulson had been allowed to come up for air. His lack of focus betrayed that he was still reeling, from that little taste of what Loki was capable of. But he blinked hard, and gradually the veil of calm determination returned to his weary eyes. Loki released him, moving his arms slowly outward and watching with mock concern. He slipped away to one side and smiled, almost politely. "Now. What will it be, good Phil of Many Lives?" He waited patiently, frozen in his supplicating gesture, for him to collect himself and respond.  
  
With just a slight, delicious hint of frustration on his features, the director closed his eyes. When he opened them he was already visibly resolved to do what he thought was best. He looked over and nodded to an agent, who lowered her weapon, and so did everyone else. But 4372's release was not part of that understanding. He soothed away her baby's cries as best he could, then turned and carefully handed her to Loki.  
  
Loki's main focus turned immediately to the tiny, squirming child, but his eyes scanned the room once he had her - challenging them all to make a move. He brought forth the edge of his silky green cape and draped it over his arm, forming a little cocoon for her, and gradually her cries lost their strength. He couldn't help but gaze at her, in wonder, for a moment. But he allowed himself only that moment.  
  
4372 had long since broken down, hunched over and breathing in rapid gasps. She smiled through it though, and stared longingly at the two of them together. Her daughter could not be safer now, than she was in her father's arms. Loki glanced her way... completely without expression, and only for a second... so her smile faded quickly, when he turned to leave the room. The agents parted for him, on Coulson's quiet command. But he'd looked right down at her... it was unmistakable... She stared at his back, unable to process the meaning of that. Loki finally had his heir now... Was he... done, with her mortal mother?  
  
She called out for him, desperate for answers, but produced no sound at all. Frantically, she thought of how else to get his attention, but ended up just watching, through blurry eyes, as he left without a word. Part of her _wanted_ him to leave. Take her somewhere safe, don't worry about me, it begged, of the king who was all but gone.  
  
The agents were trying to pull her to her feet. But she was less than interested in giving them her full cooperation now. As soon as she was certain that her daughter was safely away, she'd be out of there, fast. Her attention returned to something else that had been bothering her about all this: the behavior of one agent in particular. She'd been carefully observing - from her submissive position - which ones were watching the door and then Loki, and how many kept their focus on her the whole time, guns aimed, several clear shots available if she tried anything. But this one seemed much more concerned about changing his position in the lot. He'd been inching closer and closer to _her_ , casually, stealthily, presumably so the others wouldn't notice. He'd taken advantage of the distraction caused by Loki and made his way past all but one now. She didn't like it. But all she could do was try to stare through the shoulder of the one gunman left between them, until he made his final move. Then she could search for signs of intent in the actual face of the... Ben?  
  
It was! It was Ben _freaking_ Lund. She'd been forced to assume he was either Hydra or dead... same difference, really. Either way, he'd left her thoughts... She furrowed her brow and mouthed his name, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't speak. The agent who'd been pulling on her left arm noticed this, and attempted to follow her gaze. But she was already low on patience, and sighed. "What is she looking at?" she demanded of the man on her right.  
  
At that, Ben stepped forward, smiling right at her in his usual goofy way. She didn't return the gesture. If he wasn't in the hands of Hydra, then why didn't he report her capture to SHIELD sooner? Hours, she endured their interrogations. It shouldn't have taken that long. She looked to Coulson, but his back was turned. He was on the phone, hunched over and studying one of the monitors at the same time. Loki was still in the building. As Ben got closer she tried to step back, needing more time to think about all this. But she was immediately shoved forward again by the asshole on her right.  
  
He showed a lot more confidence than usual, removing his helmet and smoothing back his hair. He stepped up close and looked around suspiciously. Then, still smiling, he put his face just inches from her ear and whispered into it tauntingly, "Hail Hydra."  
  
Just as it sank in that her best friend wasn't kidding, someone hit her in the back of the neck, hard. As she stumbled forward from the impact, their weapon wrapped around it, and she heard - and felt - something terrifying. A click; made by metal-on-metal, from the front of the device which was now attached to her... probably permanently. It was a thick metal ring, and it was heavy; incredibly heavy. Made of a metal she'd never seen before - dark, and lustrous, with a distinct bluish-grey tint. Her mind flooded with the memories of some very similar situations from her past, alternating with images of all the points in space she'd rather be than here. The level of fear she had of Hydra should have teleported her, instantly... but it didn't. The device. It had cinched itself tightly around her neck, the rest of its weight distributed across her shoulders... but it weighed at least as much as a human! It was like someone big had their arms around her, pulling her down. She could stand, but it was difficult, especially with her hands behind her back.

Regaining her balance, she forced a lot of breath from her lungs then, past her useless vocal chords. Ben let out a loud, derisive laugh at her efforts. It was the same laugh he'd always had, when she'd done something clumsy, or they'd thought up a particularly devious prank. The memories of how she'd laughed at him the same way, and all the times he'd randomly initiated a game of hit-for-hit in the hallways, morphed into thoughts of her strapped to that bed again, screaming, while Ben stood over her in Hydra combat armor with that same mischievous grin.  
  
Desperate to get away, she focused on a specific spot, short-distance. But she couldn't even get out of the room. The commotion she'd made had been enough to get Coulson's attention though. He turned around slowly, mid-conversation. But as soon as he saw what had happened his expert reflexes kicked in. He dropped the phone and whipped his gun out of its holster, just as Ben and two more agents opened fire. The man on her right let go of her arm to make better use of his very large gun, and the woman, she noticed, had let go when that thing had hit her neck. Fortunately, there was no note in her file regarding her ability to slip out of all but the fanciest handcuffs. And with all agents focused on bringing down the three Hydra gunmen, she was able to drop down to the floor and grasp the edge of one, while folding her other hand just so... She braced herself for the pain, put her foot on the other side and pulled it through, as quickly as she could. Thanks to the hasty application - and her tiny wrists and hands - the only sound made was the clank of that cuff on the the floor before she stood up, fought her way through the crowd, and made it out the door.  
  
The stale, musty air in the hallway reminded her that they were underground. They hadn't gotten there on foot. Quickly, she moved towards what she thought should be a staircase... trying the whole way to teleport, and failing. Even as she ran, she could hear the guns, screams and angry cries of pain - people getting hit... one of which she was pretty sure was Coulson. But whether SHIELD could protect her or not, she sure as shit wasn't about to risk getting dragged into another Hydra hideout. She heard people stumbling out of the room as well... some collapsed, some injured... and some whose steps were steady, and picking up speed. She panicked. Without her power, for the first time in a very long time she was genuinely, overwhelmingly terrified.   
  
She kept running as best she could under the ring's immense weight, making a few purposeful turns, which bought her some time - at least when it came to the people who _couldn't_ track her down to a surrounding square inch. As soon as she could no longer hear their heavily-armored footfalls she hid in the nearest alcove and waited for them to pass. Then she reversed direction, and found the staircase. The short break had helped, but she was already out-of breath. She put every last bit of energy into her aching, burning legs to scale the steps as quickly as possible, hindered by an unbalanced lack of grace.  
  
Light! She'd never been more relieved to see sunlight, coming through the many closely-spaced windows lining the more industrial, above-ground hallway. She was so scared she considered jumping through one of them. Not as easily-done as in the movies, and despite the everyday appearance, they were probably bulletproof glass. After she passed a few, though, she could see open sky. No more buildings in the direction she was headed. Only the short, narrow structure which just _had_ to be the lobby... one very long hallway away.  
  
She heard yelling. They'd found her again. She trusted her ears to tell her the distance and didn't look back at all. But for one of the pursuers that distance was cut in half. They'd come from an adjacent hallway. The steps were much faster than hers and they were gaining on her, fast. Running was rapidly becoming the lesser option here. So she stopped and turned on her heel, prepared to fight them off. But the man who'd pressed her to him so carefully before simply tackled her to the floor. It knocked all the breath out of her instantly. But there was no part of him holding her down yet. Gasping, she pulled her arms back to jump up. But she couldn't push herself up at all. She grabbed the ring with both hands and wrenched it down towards her stomach. But it was, several times over, too heavy for her to lift. The duplicitous agent had a smirk on his face - under the mask of his SHIELD-issued helmet - as he stood up beside her, panting, and watched her try.  
  
The second set of footfalls to approach was Ben himself. He smiled down at her as he jogged to a stop, and made a call to his superiors, not even bothering to catch his breath. "White-hot... this is Barnaby. Asset is immobilized; we are go... for extraction." Asset. She was an asset. She shuddered as Whitehall's voice surfaced in her mind, clear as the day it left his lips: 'what you are to us, is more than just an asset. You're the creator of assets'.  
  
Without further warning the sound of shattering windows filled her ears, and the agent crouched over her - protecting her unarmored skin from the flying glass. When he got up he'd been joined by at least five others, and she could feel more running towards her through the ground. The adrenaline in her surged, and she decided to make a dangerous last-ditch effort to get up. She kicked off the ground with all her strength and curled up, rolling backwards... fearing for a second that she'd overestimated her flexibility. But she folded in half with her head still pinned, and used the combination of the remaining leverage, both arms and her much stronger back muscles to lift her head, quite painfully of course. She ignored it. Injury was the least of her worries right now. She pushed herself up then put both hands on the ring to help balance it. But before she could flee the scene, a much larger hand had already clamped down over hers.  
  
She was surrounded, and she could see SHIELD agents coming to fight them as well, from all directions. She punched the arm away from her neck against the elbow and he let go. But there were simply too many of them. While some moved out to exchange fire with SHIELD, those closest clipped thick cording onto three specific points on the ring and backed away before she could strike them. Then they used the hundred-and-fifty-pound weight to drag her down the hallway with the rest of the party, guns blazing, against her horrified struggles. When they reached a waiting helicopter they handed her off to the soldiers already on-board, who pulled her in quickly and without mercy. She stumbled and half-fell into one of the seats as the helicopter left the ground. All she could do then was stare, helplessly, out the open side of the military-style vehicle at the shrinking SHIELD complex below.  
  
Then, and only then, did she cry. She lost all composure at once and burst into tears. She wanted to double over to hide her anguish, but was forced by the ring to stay upright. She rested her neck against the back of the seat, relieving some of the pain, closed her eyes and sobbed soundlessly. Loki wasn't coming. He'd almost made his escape, he could sense her sudden terror, and there was plenty of time to take her baby to the jet, to trusted hands, and come back there for her. But he didn't. He didn't _need_ her anymore. It had all been just an act, and she really should have known it all along. The slow return of her voice only made her cry harder - all the way up until they reached their destination - devoid of all hope and scared to death of the horrors that awaited her there.  
  
She walked with them the rest of the way, on a leash, crying periodically when her mind wasn't actively fearful. All she could think about was her daughter; if she really was safe, and how she needed her mother. Finally they shoved her into a room, a large one, with a table and chairs, a sink and a toilet, and a freaking hospital bed... that's it. This was where she would spend the rest of her existence, she thought, as she banged uselessly on the metal door behind them. She would rather die.  
  
A few tear-filled hours went by before he graced her with his presence. Whitehall. He brought with him his underlings. Instinctively she backed away from them as they came in. But as soon as he turned away from it to face her, she noticed he still had the remnants of that black eye. She looked away quickly, trying not to smile, but enjoying the cold comfort of knowing she still caused him pain.  
  
"It's truly a pleasure to see you again, Miss Iversen," he said in an overly-pleasant tone.  
  
She refused to look at any of them directly as he strolled closer, analyzing every breath. He had his information. He had her trapped. What else could he possibly expect to see? This wasn't an interrogation, she fumed. She wasn't even sure why he was there at all. To gloat? To do the dirty work himself? She didn't see the point, then, in holding back the few words she did have in mind for him. She raised her head when he was still a few feet away, still looking at her expectantly. "Fuck off, you delusional, self-loathing, psychotic waste of flesh," she snarled.  
  
He paused, several wrinkles forming in his forehead - concealing indignant surprise. Then he came closer, to admire the piece of metal around her neck. He ran his fingers along the inner edge, only an inch from her skin... "I see the collar fits." He emphasized the term subtly, but his tone conveyed the rest. The condescention mixed with a sadistic kind of... passion, she supposed, took over as he tried his best to intimidate her. "Seeing as your charming personality has become so much _stronger_ \- as a result of your recent loss - I thought I might supervise the aforementioned undertaking myself." She had more words for him after hearing that bit of news. But she decided instead to take all that emotion and try to teleport again. She concentrated, harder than ever before, closed her eyes and dedicated her entire consciousness to the effort. He just stood there for a while, probably wondering why she'd dismissed his presence so suddenly. She didn't even hear him circling around her.  
  
"I know what you are doing," he taunted, from a foot behind. She jumped, but wouldn't dignify his bullshit by turning around. "You will never be able to use your ability for as long as this touches your skin." His voice lightened, and he spoke with pretentious pride. "It's composed entirely of osmium... the densest stable element on Earth. It was quite difficult to obtain - far moreso to shape - but it seems it was well worth the effort. This element's specific properties make it easily seven times more than you've been known to teleport, with difficulty."  
  
She stared blankly, right through him, as he sauntered into her line of sight. "If you try you will only exhaust yourself. And I'd much prefer you to be conscious for what's to come."  
  
Her eyes snapped back into focus on the casually-dressed agent who was coming to take Whitehall's place. He grabbed for her arm, but even through the blue haze of power she'd seen the needle he carried - halfway behind his back. She whipped it away before he could even touch her.

He looked at her with uncertainty as she stepped back, further from them both, but her instincts kept her away from the walls as well... and the room wasn't really that big. There was, in the end, nowhere to go. As an armored agent moved in to assist, she grabbed the slighter man's collar, pulled him in and beaned him with the free-hanging cuff on her left hand. It worked kind of like a flail, leaving quite the nasty gash. He stepped back, holding his head, but by then the second one was on her. Whitehall narrowed his eyes and watched from afar, seemingly fascinated, as she used the cuff like brass knuckles now to punch him in the throat. She continued to hit him in various unprotected places while he coughed and gagged, until he'd stumbled out of easy reach.  
  
Whitehall studied her changing expressions as he moved in again, this time with several well-armed agents. They filed into the room in strict formation and surrounded her with guns. Guns she could not fight. She found herself not caring about that as much as she probably should. "Miss Iversen," he chided. "Tell me, what can I do to earn your compliance?"  
  
The question surprised her. She knew that killing her wasn't in their plans, but... why so gentle this time? He folded his hands in front of him and waited for her response.  
  
She summoned her fear-lowered voice. "Why?"  
  
He smiled. "May I offer you some candor?" She just glared at him. "The replication process we spoke of has not made much progress since we last met. I don't believe it _impossible_ , to isolate what makes your genes compatible with those of the alien. But it seems we'll be needing to keep you alive and well, for as long as we possibly can."  
  
Nothing. She wanted nothing from any of them. She stared him down, concealing her confusion over what they both surely knew. "Suggestions?"  
  
He tilted his head at her. "I have none."  
  
She wanted her freedom. Her daughter, but not here, not with them. Safety. She was beginning to think that safety didn't exist... the question was a test, she realized, with the rising burn of anger in her stomach. He was fucking with her. His smile widened as he watched her struggle with it, seeing right through to the fear and the rage at her core. But she calmed her violent thoughts. There were _words_ with which to share the love.  
  
"I want... to make this as draining and as painful for you as I 'possibly can'," she mocked. "And I will. I'm not afraid of you," she lied. "You're nothing more than a weak, spineless, idiotic _abomination_ of age." He looked her over and took a few long, threatening steps closer. She was humiliating him with his own macho need to remain calm and civil. She smiled at him. "Bring it, weichei _hurensohn,_ " she hissed. His eyes widened and he slapped her, hard. He focused that same venomous gaze on her face just long enough to see it snap to one side, and her reaction. She left it there, her eyes now obscured by her hair, while she caught her breath. No point in retaliation. He'd probably just have her strapped down again. And she'd done what she'd wanted to do. He hastily made his way to the other side of the room, raising his head to issue a bunch of orders she couldn't quite make out through the ringing in her ears. But she was pretty sure they ended with "Disarm her first."  
  
She turned back and shifted her feet anxiously as they all closed in at once. She hit as many as she could with her metal knuckles, causing serious injury and leaving those agents with questionable states of consciousness. But she was quickly overwhelmed. While she was in mid-swing at one, another was able to pull her right hand behind her back. A few seconds later someone else caught her left. He inspected it and smiled at her, as if he were impressed. She kicked him in the knee, earning her a tighter hold and a very strong arm around her neck above the collar. She closed her eyes and relaxed her throat so she could breathe, then gave a searing look to a fourth one, who'd pulled out a lockpick while the one she'd kicked recovered. He picked the cuff apart with expert ease, removed it and looked right at her, quoting darkly, "Sever one head, and two more will take its place."  
  
As if on cue, all the debilitated agents were replaced. He pulled her arm down and forward, despite her jerking it back with all the strength she could muster. He continued to do so until the one behind began to strangle her again, ordering her to stop. Then he pushed up the hoodie's sleeve on that arm, and she noticed another plain-clothed agent approaching with them; a woman this time.  
  
She struggled and screamed, suddenly very afraid of the contents of that syringe. Whatever it was, there was a lot of it. And though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she couldn't escape it, it made her feel better to try. The woman eyed her briefly, then carefully injected it all into her forearm. When the unarmed agent was a safe distance away, she was released... somewhat reluctantly. A show of dominance, is what that was, she realized. Whitehall wanted her to see he didn't _need_ restraints to get things done. And it gave him something to threaten her with later. And the dumbass was coming back towards her! She was going to hurt him this time. She put her hand over the site, which now bled and stung horribly. But some medications did that. She didn't even bother to ask.  
  
He stopped just out of her immediate reach. "You're very clever," he granted, turning over in his fingers the bloody set of cuffs he'd been handed. "But I would suggest you pace yourself, weibsstück. This must be done each and every day. There will be more men later, for you take out your aggressions on." He raised his eyebrows and added with false kindness, "Enjoy it. It's likely to be the only thing you'll have to look forward to." And with that, he left.  
  
She'd been able to hold herself together so he didn't see - not in-person at least, she corrected, as she peered through blurry eyes at all the cameras. He'd also left behind two guards - inside the cell with her, no less. So perhaps he didn't have total confidence in her defeat...  
  
She spent the rest of the night on her knees again, meditating. There was hope, she told herself. Loki... if it had all been an act to keep her complacent - then still, _even he_ wouldn't just dispose of her like that, once he got what he wanted... right? She found that she was unable to convince herself of that. But there was hope she could improve her skill, the weakened sense of optimism bargained... improve it by a factor of seven. She concentrated deeply, ignoring her surroundings and all of her body's needs, and summoned all she could remember of the wisdom and knowledge of the Tesseract.


	32. The Pyre

She stayed on the stone floor until she'd achieved a state of pure clarity, determined to find the power to escape. There were no windows - save for the slot in the thick steel door her new guards used to spy on her before entering - and no clocks. No way to tell how long she'd been trying. But after a while her body complained that she hadn't eaten or slept, and the changing amounts and types of noise she could hear through the walls of the cell suggested that the whole night had passed that way, and it was now the next morning. SHIELD isn't coming, either... was the first thought to successfully invade her inner peace. She couldn't say she blamed them.

She snapped to attention when the pull-out handle on the door clicked back into position, indicating company. But then she went right back to it, aiming her gaze at the wall - if anything - and ignored the group coming in. It was mostly medical staff, and another fucking needle. She could hear her gun-toting roommates moving in to surround her immediately. Though her eyes were technically open, she flinched when they tried to lift her arm.  
  
Staring past them all into nothingness, she let them touch her this time. They whispered to each other so quietly that she actually couldn't hear them. But to ask anything of the guards, they had to speak. "Can we remove this garment, please? Infection _is_ a concern with this one..." Her eyes zeroed in on the presiding 'doctor'... a man of course. But male or female, professional or not, she really didn't want to be any less clothed around these people. Plus, the air in the cell seemed to always be humid and cold. She was pretty sure they were underground.  
  
Instinctively she took her arm back and folded it with the other over herself. She watched them carefully, until an armored agent came up and firmly grabbed the back of her collar. There was nowhere to hit him from her position so she jumped up, but apparently he knew that too. He pushed her back down and stayed directly behind her, giving her access to nothing. All she could do was wrench on his fingers and claw at the hand at her neck. It didn't budge. Then the second agent whipped out a knife. "Sit still," he ordered. "Don't want to slice that soft skin of yours."  
  
Still pulling hard on the weakest points of his hand, she yelled at them. "No! Let me go! That's not... necessary;" she squeaked under the stress of the fruitless effort. But as he moved forward she stopped struggling, and calmed herself. "If you just let me go I'll take it off myself."  
  
He leered at her, smiling. "You can't." He was right. The hoodie was a pull-over, and it had been applied to her before the collar. He could see the realization on her face. Then, a pleading look. Which he ignored.  
  
Inclined to take his advice - based another good look at that knife - she reluctantly let go of the man's arm. She pulled at the front of the collar instead to relieve some of the alarming, strangling sensation caused by the agent's overestimation of her height. She straightened her back and froze up as he hooked its serrated edge onto the seam of the hood. He made a clean slice down the back and it fell off, all except for the sleeves. The second white-coat impatiently grabbed the fabric at her wrists and to pull them off of the collar, then used it to slide it off her arms. She looked away, and covered her chest as best she could. They prepared some things she couldn't see, pried an arm away again and cleaned it with an alcohol swab, making her extra jumpy now. The first doctor inspected her arm closely, and was handed a different type of needle. He used it to draw some blood... or rather, to try. It had been a few days since she'd had the time to eat or drink anything.  
  
"She's _very_ dehydrated," he complained as he removed it and and tried again. "If you want to keep her healthy enough, I suggest you not let it get this bad again." She tried not to jerk on her arm at each pain, but it was hard. She could barely see what they were doing from the angle she was being kept at, and her level of anxiety was rising...  
  
He was focused, and quick about it though. He applied some gauze before taking it out, and moved on to another task. Another injection. She cringed. But, unable to do much else about it, she relaxed for this one, which made it not hurt as much. It stung just like the last time. He got up and backed away, and only then did the skillful asshole behind her let go of her aching neck.

She was finally able to stand, as they filed out of the room, and the guards both returned to their posts. Bewildered, she gazed at the door. She paced the cell for a while, holding herself extra tightly, and eyeing each guard when she got close to them. After a few passes, she decided to speak to the one who _hadn't_ enjoyed tormenting her yet.

"What are they doing to me?" she asked, letting fear seep into her words. She looked into his eyes, but all he did was watch her extra closely, a neutral expression on his face, both hands on the excessively-large gun across his chest. She noticed he'd tightened his grip on it.  
  
She took a step back and looked down. "Please, I... just want to know. Even if it's horrible, it would make it a lot easier to comply if I did..." she offered, purposefully using Whitehall's favorite fucking term. He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't respond. Orders not to speak to the prisoner.  
  
Hungry, thirsty, cold and tired, she wondered if they'd take the man's advice. In the meantime she decided there was little point in denying herself sleep. Every little movement echoed loudly in the cell, which to her was a great comfort - a warning. She'd always be able to hear them coming for her.  
  
She turned and took a long, hard look at the hospital bed. Nope. Instead she went over to the corner furthest from the door, picking up the torn hoodie as she went. She sank into it slowly, staying upright and balancing the collar between the walls. The shocking cold of the cement floor cut right through the thin fabric covering her legs, but she used the hoodie like a blanket anyway, pulling her knees up to her chest and draping the thick fabric over her shoulders. If she was tired enough, she could sleep almost anywhere. And still be on alert.  
  
Unfortunately, at some point her brain decided that she _wouldn't_ hear them coming after all. It rebelled against her natural state of alertness and let her sleep soundly for several hours... possibly a day. When she woke there were clothes and a blanket just feet from her... disturbingly close, but benign. There was just one garment - a thin, stretchy tunic. White, but otherwise much like her old one. Interesting. She was more than happy to cover herself, pulling it over the collar with ease.  
  
A suspiciously short amount of time after she did, the door opened.  
  
"Good afternoon, Miss Iversen.” Whitehall came in flanked by two guards, one of which was carrying a tray of hot food. The other a large pitcher with two glasses. And it's mid-day, she thought. So they're doing the injections at the same time every day. There's your clock. She ignored the fantastic smells emanating from a rather generous amount of food - which he'd pushed to the far end of the table - and stared at Whitehall from her corner. He sat down, put his elbows on the table and watched her, fascinated, like he was having a lunch at the freaking zoo.  
  
"You've been unusually cooperative." He seemed genuinely appreciative of that. He probably wasn't.  
  
She didn't move a muscle. What is he really doing... it ran through her head repeatedly. He raised an eyebrow and motioned to the chair across from him. “Please, sit. Drink. You’ve had a trying day."  
  
Unpleasant company aside, she still needed food and water. She eyed him suspiciously as she obeyed the congenial order. Only the pitcher was between them, so she poured herself a drink, smelling it first of course. It was some of the purest, coldest most refreshing mineral water she'd ever had. But he was watching her a little too closely.  
  
Once she'd finished the glass, she reached across for a piece of bread. A few inches from it, he deftly caught her wrist. She met his eyes with fear. But he let it go, and pushed the glass back towards her. "First, you should have another."  
  
As soon as he released her she jumped back, recoiling from it all. "Why?"  
  
"You're not finished. Finish the carafe, and then you may have whatever you wish from this plate."  
  
"What... I'm not even sure I can - Oh god what's in it!" The thoughts of all the possibilities made her stomach lurch.  
  
He smiled. "Nothing," he replied with the utmost honesty as he filled the glass again. He set the pitcher down with an excessively loud clank and suddenly the smile disappeared. "Drink."     
  
Done. She was done trying. She wasn't about to play his games or negotiate at all, just for food. She could go another three days without it, and not even have to worry she might die. She pushed herself away from the table, stood up and glared down her nose at him. "No."  
  
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms contemplatively. "I suppose I will offer you a choice then." He raised his head a little to level his gaze at hers, his eyebrows high and slightly furrowed in a combination of amusement and concern. "Do as I ask, or I will have it forced down your throat."  
  
Her pulse quickened, but she stifled any visible reaction to the threat and narrowed her eyes at him. For a while it was nothing but a silent standoff between them. He looked down in thought, fiddling with his cufflinks... giving her a chance to change her mind without bruising her pride too much. But only until she began to walk away. "Very well," he announced. He turned his head in the general direction of one of the agents he'd brought. "Bring the instruments." The agent left the room.  
  
Her eyes flashed fear against her will. She closed them, then came back and aggressively grabbed the glass. She smelled it again, but then she drank it all, scowling from behind it the whole time and purposefully searching for any odd tastes to it now. Whitehall smiled, entirely too pleased to see her give in like that. He gave the remaining agent the same look, and they used a very SHIELD-esqe headset to report her cooperation to the other. When she'd finished that one he reminded her to continue with a furtive glance at the pitcher. She picked up the whole thing with both hands and swilled it down like so much cheap vodka.  
  
She then retreated to her corner and slid her back down into it, a little nauseated. She eyed everyone in the room, expecting to be ordered to do something else, and in the meantime looking for clues in their behavior. Whitehall was a brick wall. Inhuman. Unreadable. His mission apparently accomplished, he rose from the chair to leave the room. She pushed herself out from the wall and raised her voice a little. "What are you _doing_ to me? Why can't you just take my blood, figure it out and leave me the hell alone!" she demanded.

He turned an ear to her, then faced her again. He wore that bemused almost-grin of his, but was careful not to stare as he closed the distance between them. He stopped well within her reach. Dismissing the furious glare, he studied the fear she couldn't hide, smiled and spoke so kindly... so cruelly. "Because you can give us more."  
  
Her eyes went wide. She moved them off of the terrifying man and into the distance, her jaw still clenched defiantly. But inside she was crying. Calling out for help from Loki, from SHIELD... anyone. She couldn't handle this, being a lab rat, no knowledge, and certainly no hope for control over her own dim fate. She was already at the limits of her composure, and it hadn't even been two days. She took a few deep breaths, turned her head back and lifted her chin. "I'll give you _nothing_ but hell." With the last of her courage she met his eyes again, this time with a stare of fierce resolve.  
  
He grinned and scoffed lightly, surprised yet unaffected. Then he took a step back, turned and left the room at a brisk, business-like pace, a guard opening the door for him and closing it behind with a loud, finalizing clank.  
  
It took her about an hour to give in and eat some food... all of it. She ate all of it. Even the things she hated. Then she paced the room, brooding, with nothing else to do but think.

When she heard the door again she snapped out of it. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. A whole team of medical personnel was coming in, with lots of clipboards, machines and instruments. Only some of which she recognized. She stayed still, searching the mostly-expressionless faces for any sign of their intent.  
  
The team was all unarmed white-coats, but some of them were very strong and stern-looking men. They looked like they should be on a battlefield somewhere, not in nurse scrubs, next to _her_. One of the biggest ones - the only ones who were empty-handed, she noted - was first in their approach. But he kept his hands out in front of him, palms down, and moved slowly, in an effort to keep her calm. "We are _not_ here to hurt you, Iversen," he stated firmly. "And we've got orders not to let you hurt yourself. So just... do what we tell you to, and this will all be over quickly."

Her next breath cut short and burned her throat, as her eyes darted nervously around the cell. "What - "

"It's better if you don't know the details," he interrupted, eyeing her sideways, carefully, as she backed away. "But I assure you what's happening is painless, as long as you stay calm."

The other big guy shot the first one a blatantly irritated look before turning his cold expression back to her defensive stance. Like his coworker was being too kind. "Look, we're aware that you're a runner. So I'll go ahead and tell you this now: It needs to be done every day. Whitehall has a... preference, that we avoid sedating you. And your _voluntary_ compliance is highly recommended. Now. Please step away from the wall."

A thinly-veiled threat. Sedation. Of course. Use of force, and restraints... the memories brought forth fear. Drawing quick, tense breaths, she fought the strong-yet-nonsensical urge to run. The one who had threatened her was intimidating. But the one who was almost sympathetic... he made her outright panic. Sympathy, dread and guilt on his face... for _what?!_

She slapped away the first hand that tried to touch her shoulder, unsure of what else to do. "Don't you _fucking_ touch me..." she warned. She needed to stay strong, stall for time, and try to clear up her mind. The tracking chip. She had no idea what kind of signal it was sending or what all was capable of detecting it. She couldn't let them use _any_ machine on her. She had to attempt to stop them.  
  
That same man grabbed her forearm - deceptively quick this time. And despite him being without armor, he was _tough_. He blocked a strike, dodged a kick and just took a whole hit to the sternum. Then he took the other one, pulled them both up to shoulder-level and dragged her into the rest of the group. As they surrounded her on all sides her fear peaked, and she showed them the weakness within. "Let me... go! What are you doing? No! Please!" She screamed it, pitifully, desperately looking for _any_ sort of tactical advantage.  
  
Though she was able to pull hard enough to get him to drop her arms, and skillfully dodged most attempts at restraining her again, she was, at all times, being forced to move forward by someone with a hold on the collar. Like it or not, she was going to where they were taking her. Briefly, she gave up her random, opportunistic strikes to confirm her suspicions of that. But all it did was increase her fear tenfold... because it was the bed. She protested uncontrollably. "No! No no no _fuck!_ No," she shrieked, and continued to fight every step. She swung and kicked and fell a few times under the weight of the collar, frantically screaming obscenities. But they just picked her up each time, one on each arm, and stayed far away to her sides. The thought that there was nothing she could do; that someday she would die in this cell, in unimaginable pain, on that bed, had eroded away all of what was left of her inhibitions.

She found herself fighting so hard her lungs burned, yearning for stable breath. Somebody took it upon themselves to check her pulse, grabbing for her wrist from behind. And when they got what they wanted, the woman in front of her mirrored their expression so she could see. Concern. Her heart was pounding fast.  
  
The first guy had only been encouraging any voluntary forward movements - ones she took to regain balance or avoid a grab - with a hand or two clamped onto her shoulder. But now he seemed more frustrated. "Calm... down," he grunted, as she tried in different ways to break free of his grasp. "Stop struggling! Stop, or we'll _make_ you stop."  
  
They might. She didn't care. Only a few feet from the bed now she screamed some more, and bit down hard on his hand. He hissed in pain, but before he'd even let go of her another one took his place. Two more dodged her kicks and grabbed her legs, and together they lifted her up completely and put her on the bed, seamlessly moving to hold her down with overwhelming strength. She writhed and shrieked and watched in horror as they strapped her to it, again - positioning her feet into stirrups. And at that her screams broke up into painful, hysterical crying. Helpless. Humiliated, and - on so many levels - terrified of what was going to happen.  
  
They cut off the last of her own clothing - the stretchy leaf-green pants. She pulled on the straps, giving it all she had, until she ran out of breath - and realized that the medical staff had stepped away, simply allowing her to burn herself out.  
  
When there was nothing left in her but tears they all moved in. One of them started an IV, at which she squeaked pathetically. The woman injected something into it right away... a mild sedative. She felt it, and she fought it. Though it offered to relieve her suffering, she refused. To lose all control was worse.  
  
A few tense, tear-filled minutes later the same woman decided to try to talk her down. "You know... for such a strong, cold-blooded killer, you're _very_ afraid of a little routine medical procedure." Sara looked at her with wide eyes like she was insane. "That's all it is. It does us no good to hurt you and - unlike most things - you can't fight it. So please, just... relax." She cried even harder out of a more precise kind of embarrassment, and dread, as she watched them set up their equipment. She'd recognized the ultrasound device, but what that 'doctor' held in his hand was not the same kind of transducer. It was a probe. She could feel the sedative working against her, dulling her senses, making it hard to comprehend the whole picture anymore - about exactly the type of people these were, and all the theories she'd developed in the last few minutes about their main objective...  
  
The woman stayed by her head, monitoring her slow loss of comprehension. Finally she glanced at the other one, who had long since turned the monitor away so she couldn't see it. She repeated - kindly but firmly - "Relax." Cautiously, he slid the probe inside her, causing her to cry out at the cold, unwanted touch. She shook with increased tears and tried to take the woman's advice, having never done this before. Impassively he placed a hand on her lower abdomen, and pushed it in further, until it began to bother her, bordering on painful. But he was looking at the screen the entire time and stopped before it really was. She gasped each time he moved it around, no matter how shallow or gentle. But as long as she didn't squirm they all ignored her.  
  
Soon he began to point at the screen and whisper to the others, who were recording things on various devices. A few raised eyebrows was all she saw, though, before she turned her head. She couldn't stand to look at them. It didn't help at all. Finally, he removed it. They left her there for a few minutes while they discussed things, far away. Then the woman returned to take out the IV and, without ceremony, they all packed up and left. A single armed agent was the one to free her from the straps. But much to his surprise she just... laid there, staring into nothingness, through reddened, leaky eyes. There were only a few things that they could be looking for with that type of ultrasound, she realized. But her mind had already reached its limit for horrifying thoughts, and she didn't much care anymore. She was elsewhere. Somewhere she knew, but dared not go.  
  
The changing of the guards woke her from her daze, as the door creaked open, slammed shut and the new one spoke to the other out-loud. "Is she alright? Cause, you know... all this happened on _your_ watch, not mine. I'm not about to have Whitehall hand me _my_ ass if she loses her shit on my shift..."  
  
The other one spoke more quietly. "Doctor says she is. She's just... comprehending things, I guess. To her it's all torture. I mean, just imagine going from complete and total freedom, _invulnerability_ even, to this..." They both watched her carefully as she sat up, and looked around, broken, angry, despondent. Her bright hair was dingy with sweat from all the fighting and wildly scrambled around her face.  
  
Shaken by the thought of just how much if this she'd have to endure, she paced the room. Discreetly inspecting it for flaws and clues as to where they were. Then, just as she was beginning to think she might have the wherewithal to try and escape again, someone actually _knocked_ on the thick steel door. Her heart skipped, but she kept her pace, certain that it couldn't get worse.  
  
The agent walked over and spoke to him through the narrow slot. Curious, she drifted closer, until she could hear parts of the conversation.  
  
"...unscheduled," the agent stated flatly, watching her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Call Whitehall. He changed the schedule, right after he got that report."  
  
They lowered their voices, presumably discouraged to argue in front of the others. Then a more familiar voice: "Ooh, let me do it! ...you should let me do it," he corrected, his tone still lacking in professionalism.  
  
"Pfft. Go for it."  
  
Fucking Ben. After some more decisive fact-checking, Ben was who came through the door. He carried another tray, full of very different foods. Hm.  
  
He sat it down on the table while she watched, then took a seat there himself. "What's going on?" he asked with a friendly smile.  
  
Incredulous, she turned her head and scoffed. "I should ask you the same thing."  
  
He looked down for a moment and shrugged. "It's nothing _personal_... I'm sure you've figured most of it out by now." She sat down across from him and stared. "I had _one job_..." he held up a finger. "just one: bring you to Whitehall. When I failed, I tried again." Noticing her glance at the food, he pushed it towards her, removing the fresh glass of water and setting it aside so it wouldn't spill. When she refused to take any of it, he looked around - at the cameras - and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "You _do_ have to eat. If you don't, more guys will be in shortly, and I can tell you right now that they're not as good company as me."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, and took a bite of an apple. "Who the fuck do you work for, _Benedict_?" His real name was Benjamin. But she couldn't resist pointing out the similarities.  
  
"Well, Hydra, obviously. But I _like_ you." He put his elbows on the table and leaned in while she ate. "Okay so here's what happened," he started excitedly. "I've been working for SHIELD for a while now... that I didn't lie about. Much. They knew you'd be expecting them to find you. And they knew you wouldn't come willingly. You're kind of predictable. It's my favorite thing about you, really. Anyway. I was actually the one who suggested that good ol' SHIELD Agent Friendly Ben take you somewhere. Wheedle all the vital information out of you first. And _then_ they could bring you in." When she stopped eating, appalled, he elaborated. "It's not like they could torture you for it." He snickered. "I still can't believe you thought I could lose three field agents in SUVs _that_ easily. I mean _... really?_ "  
  
"I don't know, I guess I wasn't thinking too hard at the time about how far you'd go to betray me, _Lund_."  
  
"Hm. Well. It was just _so_ unfortunate that we were ambushed by Hydra along the way, and they took you from me by force."  
  
Fabulous. A story to keep his cover.  
   
He laughed a little. "Funny thing is, I thought _for sure_ you'd tell Coulson everything about your capture when they got you back. About me. But then all _that_ happened..." He motioned towards her stomach. He seemed surprised when he looked up to see the murderous expression on her face. But he covered it up with his old soft-spoken awkwardness. "Yeah... probably shouldn't bring that up right now, huh?"  
  
She was in no hurry to finish her food, even if Ben's intention was to just watch her in uncomfortable silence and wait. She took her time. Then she decided to see if he'd let her in on anything else. "So what are they trying to do here, anyway? I mean, I know they want my DNA..."  
  
He furrowed his brow. "Come on now Iversen; you _know_ I can't tell you that. The less you know, the less you can fight us for it." His tone was downright celebratory. He took nothing seriously. So nonchalant about it all.  
  
She buried her anger immediately and feigned a sense of defeat, putting her fork down and staring sadly off into the distance. Ben was a good actor, she'd give him that. But there were some parts of one's personality that it was neither simple nor necessary to fake. And Ben had a very soft heart.  
  
"You should really just go along with it, though," he pleaded. "You're in the best situation you can be in, with us. We need you alive. You know that too. There's no reason to _get yourself hurt_." He leaned over further and put his hand on hers, like he cared. Like he wasn't the one who'd led the operation that tore her away from her child. The combination of rage and the underlying instinct to escape was a volatile one, and together they exploded inside her, out-of-control. The feeling made her skin crawl, consumed her mind and and moved on to her heart, freezing it solid and strong.  
  
She flipped her hand on top of his and held it there while she broke the glass against the table. As soon as it shattered the guards sprung to life, but she used a good large shard first to stab between the bones of his hand - cutting the shit out of hers - but successfully pinning it through to the table. Just before the first guard reached them she jumped up, swung around behind Ben and put the whole broken glass against his throat. "Keep them away, _Lund_ , or I'll gut you where you sit. You know I will..." She pressed it in until he bled in several spots.  
  
Wincing in pain, he motioned the guards to stay back a few feet, which was good enough for her. She only had one question for him now: "How long have you been working for them, Ben?"  
  
He yelled as she leaned his chair back, pulling on the still-attached hand. "Aaagh! Fuck. Since... just before we met. _Why_?"  
  
She sighed. The loveable wuss still thought, somehow, that she might just let him go. Why? Because he'd been her friend? Except, of course, he _hadn't_... She broke the remaining glass sideways, took a deep breath and plunged it into his torso, just under the side of his ribcage. No kevlar there. Idiot. Lying, manipulative idiot. She stabbed him repeatedly, viciously... but she needed to leave him with an injury he might survive.

She pulled the dagger-like shard out of his hand while he screamed and immediately flew towards the agent who _wasn't_ calling for backup. The likelihood of him hitting her was much higher, and the the other would finish the call... She feigned several strikes with the crude weapon, never going all out on him; staying well out of his reach instead. She moved fast enough so that he couldn't keep good aim on any non-vital points, while the other one rushed over to help Lund. Seconds later the door opened and she bolted for it, hoping to catch the responders by surprise.  
  
It almost worked. It _would've_ worked, if it weren't for the sheer number of bodies on the other side. She'd expected a single team, no more than four, this quickly... which meant they were already in the area, close by, for something else... She fought and sliced her way through a few of them, but was caught by the remaining six. She assaulted their ears with an angry, primal scream and continued to fight them all, even though they already had a firm hold on her collar. Several medical professionals rushed past the tangle of flying limbs, blood and glass to cart off Ben, but she was pretty sure he'd bled out already, by the looks of him. _He'd deserved it_.  
  
Once it was cleared, they dragged her back into the blood-spattered cell. She'd left - was still leaving - a trail of bloody lines and arcs from the running, spinning and swinging she'd tried to fight them with. The agents were all bloody too, and varying degrees of livid. Two of them had watched her kill a good-humored, high-ranking agent.  
  
A particularly strong one shoved her back against the wall and stepped aside, pinning her there with a forearm on her chest. "Hold her down," another one ordered, while trying three times to catch her wrist. She stopped, out of breath and options, as more hands were applied and the agent presented her right one to a doctor. He proceeded to hand him tools as he asked for them, to inspect it and stop all the bleeding.  
  
There was no anesthetic used to put thirteen stitches in her hand. But the massive amount of adrenaline rushing through her veins had left her every bit as uncaring as they were. Surprisingly, when it was all done and bandaged up, they let her go again. She peeled herself off of the wall, making no further attempts to hurt the agents who were carefully backing away. Then she looked at the table and chairs where the escape attempt had started. A puddle of Ben's blood had soaked into the wood in the middle where his hand had been, surrounded by little drips of her own. They extended to the floor, and her eyes followed the trail to the chair on the other side, whose seat was a red, shining pool of it. It still dripped periodically. She stared, hypnotized by that detail... then she smiled. And laughed at it all. A couple of agents stopped and looked from her to each other and back, but they ended up leaving all the same. She just stood there for a few minutes, laughing loudly, not even quite sure why.  
  
When creeping out the otherwise-stoic door guards wasn't interesting anymore, she paced the cell for a while, eventually drifting to the center again and kneeling to refocus on escape. Nobody came in for several hours, a realization which made her giggle some more. The time for her daily injection had come and passed. They didn't even know how to handle her now. Scary freaking Hydra.  
  
She closed her eyes and delved into the part of her mind where the Tesseract had taken up residence, soliciting of it wisdom in the matters of life and power.  
  
It was all still there when she opened her eyes to the sound of the door clanking shut. Whitehall, alone, surveyed the scene with a raised brow, and gradually made his way towards her. She didn't care for his presence at all, and closed her eyes again, until the shuffle of his footsteps came to a stop nearby. He looked down at her, arms crossed, brow lowered in an expression of harsh judgement.

She raised her eyes only. "Ist was?" she asked him innocently.  
  
"I should say so," he replied without ire. "You have, single-handedly, _killed_ one of my best men."  
  
Smirking, she eyed her well-armed roommates as if to thank them. "Not sorry."  
  
He followed her gaze, waved his hand and gave a very unwise order. "Leave us." They did so without a word, and then he addressed her again. "I don't expect you to be. But I can't help but wonder... if I might convince you to join our cause..." Ah. So that was why. Wouldn't want the underlings to hear a sharp-tongued rejection. His pride would be the death of him...  
  
She looked around. "I'd say I'm helping you out enough already. Giving you whatever supernatural bullshit I supposedly am. Weeding out the weak from your herd as well. Gern geschehen."  
  
He tried and failed to hide from her an evil smile. He wasn't vengeful. He was _impressed_. "As an agent, Miss Iversen," he elaborated. "It would, of course, require a test of strength and loyalty first." He gave a little sideways nod. "For you, one somewhat extreme."  
  
Slowly, she rose to her feet. Life, love, pain and death had all ignored her efforts. Failed her for the last time. She'd forsaken them all entirely. But there was still one thing she cared about. One thing she had to barter for. She sauntered up to him directly, invading his personal space a bit. A test. He looked down at her inquisitively, but held his ground.  
  
"Give me back my daughter, and my loyalty is yours," she suggested. She could protect her, even here... at least until she could escape. And she had no qualms with taking her from Loki, whose ability to abandon her on a whim did nothing to advocate his skills as a father.  
  
He looked away. "We have already tried," he replied dismissively. She believed him. They probably wanted her child more than her.  
  
She gave him back all his analyzing, terrifying stares, all in one second of eye contact. "You already have a test in mind." She took a step back and motioned for him to give it up. "Tell me."  
  
He tilted his head. "Correct. The test is very simple: kill your master."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him for a minute, then realized what he was saying. Her master... someone they couldn't take out themselves. "Loki."  
  
"Yes."  
  
She didn't ask why. Loki was a threat to everyone. And she made a point not to noticeably hedge or hesitate. "Would it free me from captivity?" she asked, looking around.  
  
"If you are successful, yes." He raised his head, cordially challenging her convictions. "I believe _you are capable_ of killing a god. Your creator, and your savior. Please inform me now if I'm mistaken..."  
  
She shook her head once and spoke with complete certainty. "No you are not."  
  
His eyes glowed with anticipation, but he said nothing more.  
  
She turned away to stare at the door. "What if I run?"  
  
He tilted his head at her, as if she should know better than to ask. "We'll find you."  
  
Did... he know that she could move instantly between states, countries... even planets? He knew what SHIELD knew, she reminded herself. So... maybe. "I thought you said I'd be free."  
  
"You would gain the status of an agent - as long as you remain compliant - with all the privileges thereof. However you must still wear the collar. We must be able to keep you here," he graciously explained.  
  
Resuming her contemplative pacing, she furrowed her brow and spoke softly. "Oh... so, even then, you wouldn't trust me not to betray you."  
  
He watched her closely, as if to emphasize the answer. "No."  
  
She looked down and nodded. Then, when her pacing put her as close as he'd allowed before without tensing, she rushed him. The combat-skilled man wouldn't let her get too close, or behind him, or anywhere out of his peripheral vision. But speed was speed, and she had it. She'd been thinking about it all day. She was prepared - no, _excited_ for it. He wasn't.  
  
He already knew she was clever and resourceful, which made up for some of her weak stature. But she'd been listening closely to all his underlings as well. What happened to her makeshift weapon, they'd wondered. Their fear _of him_ kept them all from reporting that they'd lost it. In the hallway. Where they hadn't bothered to put the right kind of cameras. And besides, it was just a piece of glass, right? A piece of glass which reminded her of any one of the many different daggers Loki had made her use. She was always prepared to improvise.  
  
It was only two inches long, but that was definitely enough to puncture the carotid artery. As a killer, just as before, she was nothing if not adaptable. She feigned a swing, got under the blocking arm, twisted and threw the old man to the ground. A gamble. Painful and energy-consuming, but effective when used with one or more elements of surprise. Before he could recover she put her feet on his hands, her hand on his neck and leaned on it with all her weight. Then she reached up her tunic, pinched the skin on her outer thigh, winced, and pulled a weapon from her own flesh.

"Then you can go to Hel with all your friends," she said in a low, sinister tone - accented by the copious amounts of pain.  
  
When he saw it, his eyes flashed not fear, but fury. He lost all composure and sneered so maliciously that the thick frames of his glasses shifted upwards on his face. The very slight German accent she'd detected earlier (mostly cadence, and choice of words) thickened noticeably. "Cut off one head - "  
  
"I'll cut off them all," she happily countered, "and burn the stumps. I will use the fires of rage that you sparked, with _your_ sick desires... poetic justice, I'd say." She raised the bloody weapon and studied it wistfully. "Because now they are out-of-control." She knew well what had happened to her. The Tesseract had shown her this path before. It was one of many clear and winding ways to mastering true power. And refusing it in the name of humanity had been a grave mistake.

She moved her off-hand to his chest and locked her elbow, pinning him down while sitting up a little more. Then she raised the jagged shard above her head for extra leverage... and was stopped by a bullet to the shoulder. The pain was immediate and paralyzing, and it caused her whole arm to drop. She stood up, stumbled and fell over onto the floor, holding it. A thick river of blood was already flowing, all the way down its length, to join that which had already left her hand and her thigh. She watched as it formed a puddle around her. I'm... going to need some of that back, she thought deliriously - right before she passed out. Again.  
  
They stitched her up quite well. Had to keep her healthy. But from that point on, they treated her more like a wild animal.

Pinning, poking, prodding. Forcing her to eat. Gentle only when she couldn't fight, and speaking to her only to command her to stop. So that was what she became. An angry, feral creature, hell-bent on tearing apart anything put within reach of her cage. It took her over completely the day her fragile psyche finally shattered, under the weight of the collar and the fact that she had no control over her own body, little over her mind, and that Loki had left her and she'd never, ever get to hold her baby girl.  
  
Her rage knew no bounds. The agents came to dread having to touch her. She could hear them being coerced, and ordered, and even losing bets to each other to determine who would do it. Whitehall had been right about that. She looked forward to it. She grinned maniacally, at the voices of those who were there for her ultrasound one day. More than one of them reeked of fear, as they entered the cell on-edge, guns aimed. She sat perfectly still in the middle of the room, hands on her knees, eyes closed, and pretended to be meditating (or to those who were savvy, trying to escape).  
  
"On your feet, 4372," the ranking gunman ordered. They'd taken to using the moniker ever since she'd knocked a guy out just for using her real name. One of her small, yet savory wins.  
  
He kept a tight grip on that gun. "Nice and easy."  
  
She refused. Come a little closer, she baited them in her mind. She kept her eyes closed and listened for the imminent approach.  
  
"Careful, Noob," an agent almost laughed, as another cautiously neared her at her six. "She _definitely_ bites." She was going to enjoy this one.  
  
He reached for the collar - not the one made of osmium. The one made of kevlar. An irremovable bulletproof vest, the purpose of which was to make sure none of her gun-toting visitors would accidentally kill her in their ventures. Grabbing her there, beneath the Osmium collar, granted one's wrist protection from being broken. She sat straight up when he did, and slowly raised both her hands above her head. The man who had a hold on her didn't see the sly grin that was spreading across her lips. But his superior did.  
  
"Shit..." he said under his breath, as he aimed his gun more precisely. "4372 do not resist! First warning! Do _not_ engage the agent!" he ordered. But Noob was jumpy. She felt a flinch in his pulling. He'd glanced at his superior to see why. And in that split-second she sprung to her feet, keeping her shoulders back so the weight of the collar sort-of pressed the hand in place. Not well, but just long enough for her to spin into him and use that force to deliver a painful elbow strike to the bridge of his nose. He ripped his hand free and aimed the gun at her, but she was already crouched down low, and she swept his legs out from under him. As he fell to his knees she stood up and kicked him in the throat. His head snapped back, he gagged, and his whole body went down while the others continued their authoritative yelling.

"Second warning! Cease and desist!"  
  
She ignored them and pounced on the body, stepping on his right hand first - the one she'd seen him use to draw a knife - and prying the weapon from his fingers. At that, Noob gave up. "Wait. Wait, please!" he begged. "I'm a single father, two girls, please... don't - "  
  
"Final warning!" their leader yelled from behind his very large gun. "Drop the knife and _step away_!"  
  
Three warnings, then they shoot. Damn. She wanted to see if she could make this one cry before they took her. Two of them moved in to take her arms. She bit down hard on the hand to her left, freeing up the weapon, and sliced madly at every agent that got near her until they'd all stepped back a bit. She _needed_ to see Noob suffer; to bleed by his own blade. By the time she was able to cast her predatory gaze down on him again though, more had already closed in, and a few had a good hold on the collar. She was beginning to wonder just how many Hydra agents there were. The ones she injured rarely returned, and even the ones she hadn't yet would usually do whatever was necessary to avoid having to encounter her again. Every day it was fresh meat.  
  
Now that they had a hold on her just about everywhere, they pried the dagger from her grasp and lifted her to her feet. She screamed out her frustrations, found the leader and locked eyes with him as she fought to slow her involuntary movement towards the bed.  
  
She knew her fate. But she fought it anyway. As she was being relocated, she was mentally preparing to try a new move on them... when suddenly all hell broke loose.  
  
Alarms blared, and a particularly well-armed agent with a combat-weathered look to him burst through the door. "Code seven, people! Everybody out. All soldiers to your posts. Everyone else..." he shook his head a little. "I suggest you leave immediately. You do _not_ want to risk getting trapped in 4372's little cage unarmed."

All at once they let her go. Or so she thought. As he ushered them out, somebody she _hadn't_ seen ran full-force into her and knocked them both to the ground. She crumpled up onto her side, the impact aggravating all her old injuries. When she opened her eyes and got her bearings again, all she could see was smoke, and all she could hear was... pure, deafening chaos. Several explosions in close sequence. Her surroundings bursting into flames. Crashes, debris hitting more debris... screams...  
  
Instinctively, she fought the man who was holding her there... sentencing them both to their deaths! She screamed and thrashed about relentlessly beneath him, until he had her completely pinned down.

"Sara!" The firm, frightening voice had been demanding her attention. Then it softened... much closer to her ears. "Be still," it soothed, amongst the blasts and raining concrete. He repeated it a few times. "Be still for me... calm, and still." He hunched over her and held her in place, keeping her between himself and the ground, until the most violent of the sounds had ceased. Only then did he rise up, removing all his weight. "Come, pet. Run. We must run." She could she see him now. She snarled. Loki. Just barely though... The smoke reflected the fickle light of the flames, glowing orange and red. The fires crackled loudly as they consumed the various flammables, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. He pulled her up by her hand and tried to move her with him, but she resisted, and tried to take it back. He let go. But he turned to her quickly and grabbed her shoulders, his fingers tensing with a sense of greater urgency. "Sara. I am real. I've not abandoned you. Do as I say... for our child."  
  
The mention of her daughter snapped her out of it. She no longer cared if he was lying. She would follow any phantom to the depths of Hel and Nilfheim for the slightest chance to see her baby again.  
  
Too quickly for her to object, he took her hand again. He led her over all the twisted metal, rocks and unrecognizable furnishings. She went along with it, though she tripped and fell a lot. She just wasn't capable of scaling the huge mounds of hot dirt and debris which, just minutes ago, had comprised a top-secret Hydra hideout. Not like he did - like they _had_ to do, to get to the upper levels. But she kept trying. Loki released her hand so she could use it to climb a bunch of high-angled, collapsed walls and stairs. He moved backwards when he could to watch her, and offered her his when she fell. She didn't take it. His eyes darted around constantly, scanning their surroundings for some danger she couldn't perceive, and the look on his soot-stained face - when she could see it - stressed to her the importance of moving quickly. But when he was confident enough to turn his back and keep going, the sight made her face-plant, right into a slab of concrete. There were dents in his scorched armor, and _holes_... Through them she could see burned aesir flesh. The remaining fabric and leather barely clung to his body anymore - in singed, thready pieces and shreds. He saw the horrified expression on her dirty, bloody face as he looked her up and down again. He closed his eyes and turned his head, as if scolding himself, and immediately climbed back down. He scooped her up with neither permission nor explanation, and carried her the rest of the way.


	33. Flames

It was as if his life had violently ended and begun anew, all in the same moment, as he gazed upon the creature in his arms. Loki was quietly hated, and publicly hunted. Often overlooked... always underestimated. He was feared - oh, how he could feel their fear, as he moved unopposed through the very heart of their secret fortress. But now he was... a father. His seed had grown in the womb of a weak and frightened human, and become the most beautiful vision of strength and survival that he had ever seen.  
  
He'd done everything in his power to protect her mother from herself. But sometimes one's disciple must be left to their own devices, he reasoned. A test, if you will, to see if they are worthy of of the reverence they would gain from the master.  
  
It would last no more than a day. He'd force himself to part with the child and find her easily in that time. The fleeting impression of terror he got from her told him she'd fallen into the hands of those monsters less-scrupulous. But he knew what they wanted from her as well... and it would take them far longer for them to achieve it than he'd allow her to suffer as such. Still, he kept a close mental eye on her. She was strong; she was resilient... and then she was out of all perception.  
  
They must have done with her what they had with his daughter, he thought, internally frantic. But he boarded the invisible aircraft just as calmly as her friends. As disturbing as a complete lack of feeling from her was, he needed to stay focused. He ignored all of their incessant questionings, strode forward and ordered the pilot to take them to New York. There was only one being in all the realms he could ever bring himself to trust with the rare jewel he held... and had no wish to ever let go of.  
  
The stares of the motley collective around him reminded him of their tendency to fawn over their young... even those of other species. And the child was surprisingly calm. He tentatively revealed her to them, watching her reaction more than theirs. He wished more than anything else not to cause the tiny being any more stress.  
  
Her bright green eyes were mesmerizing. But, perhaps most surprisingly, she had some very fine hair. Black. Right alongside the jotun blue skin - marked, but soft like Sara's. And apparently no instinctive reactionary frost burn. Her troublesome mother would not have fared well if that were the case, he laughed to himself just slightly. His daughter seemed positively fascinated by his face, and mirrored the expression with a smile.  
  
His uncertainty got the best of him as he stepped off of the rudimentary vehicle... that much closer to the enemies of the past. He paused to reconsider the risks. As if to offer her own opinion on the matter, the child made a sort of vocally-enhanced sigh. Somewhat startled, he looked down again. She seemed observant, yet content. He could not say he'd blamed her for crying in the grasp of the rather weak and excitable SHIELD agent... but since then there'd not been much commentary. He pressed his lips together, contemplating. Her features would always remind him of her mother. The mortal who gave up two years of her short life to create her. And he had no desire to add more torment to his already-questionable conscience.  
  
He made his way down the streets in the form of a mortal man, keeping her lightly covered. Though it took him a while to find the proper vendor, he did manage to acquire some nourishment for her before embarking on the mission - one very likely to take several hours. He found that the local women were more than happy to assist a clueless new father - as long as he was human, that is.  
  
Invisible to them all, they waited outside of the tower. In less time than he'd expected, a wandering Avenger appeared - though certainly not one he'd have preferred. Wherever Banner was going, it wouldn't be for long. The man was conspicuously nervous.  
  
He studied him carefully until he was out of sight, and then he took his form. His tendency to wring his hands and similar sub-conscious guarded behaviors made it easy to hold his daughter without any (unusually) awkward appearance. He simply walked right in, claiming to have forgotten some supplies.  
  
Bypassing all of Stark's security measures - with some use of his silver tongue - he made his way to where he'd been before in the servant girl's mind. He discreetly searched the main living quarters, excessively cautious because of his hidden child. They would not be revealed to them until they were in the proper company. But soon he would run out of time...  
  
Finally the Avengers were gathered all in one place, give or take a meandering master assassin. He would have to settle for this. He joined them silently, moved to where they could all see him clearly, took a deep breath, and dropped the illusion.  
  
Barton readied his weapon with impressive speed. The spy drew her gun as well. The soldier whipped around where he stood and Thor, in one fluid motion, sprung from his seat and raised Mjolnir in a rather menacing stance.  
  
Stark had been moving around obliviously the adjacent kitchenette. He froze mid-stride when he noticed, and stared uncertainly. He shook his finger at him. "You know, I'm just not sure if that's a relief or not." He looked around to the others. "Is it? Do we _prefer_ the big guy, or Emperor Caligula here?"  
  
Various weapons aimed, he knelt down before them, very low. In addition to the obvious visual purpose, it allowed him to arch his whole body protectively over the helpless being. He lowered his head and did not move an inch. Nor did he say a word. Not until his brother approached.  
  
"Loki..." he boomed angrily. "What is the meaning of this?"  
  
He raised it just enough so that Thor could see his face. He replied with all the eloquence of a serial killer on trial. "Brother, I've come to you only to ask for your help." He straightened up slightly to reveal the sleeping child. "The child of 4372 - my queen - still lives." The rather blunt statement was met with a few slight gasps, and a look of relief briefly compromised the integrity of the stony face still poised directly behind the agent's gun. "But her mother has been taken, by the mortals who call themselves Hydra." Thor narrowed his eyes. He seemed to recognize the name... as a fearsome but cowardly enemy. "I _must_ go after her. I love her, Thor." The unexpected candor softened his stern expression. It was the one thing they still had in common: the unusual ability to love a simple mortal.  
  
Thor glanced away briefly, loosening his white-knuckled grip on Mjolnir's handle. Loki pretended not to notice. "I would not question your loyalties to SHIELD..." Plural. He looked around the room and addressed them all cordially. "...nor have you risk your lives to find her. But while I do this, I would ask that you care for my daughter... _her_ daughter... your niece." He lowered his head again in the hopes that his well-chosen words would resound in that cavernous head of his.  
  
There followed a long, bizarre silence, during which he could only guess at the expressions being exchanged. Suspicion. Doubt. Anger, in the case of Barton. But - if honor would have it - they'd leave the final decision to Thor. And Loki had been able to influence the mighty warrior's decisions quite easily since they both were very small.  
  
Thor put the hammer down on the floor where he stood, bending slightly, though it still made a palpable thunk. He approached them very cautiously. Only then did Loki feel it was safe to stand... with Thor between him and those angriest. He tilted his head as he neared, to peer at the child, and the stern expression melted completely into one of warmth and wonder. He lifted his wide eyes to Loki. "May I?"  
  
Caught off-guard by the sudden shift in demeanor, he hesitated. "Yes... yes of course." Somewhat reluctantly, he gave his only daughter to the one oss who would always, in some lingering way, be her family. It felt as if he'd reached into his chest and handed him his heart as well.  
  
The child voiced some objection to being handed off, but not for very long. She needed only to feel secure in the huge, muscle-y arms, and be granted a sappy smile. Thor regarded her with pure, endearing fascination. "She is amazing, Loki..." he said softly. He shook some off it off to look up. "The first of her kind, I believe."  
  
Loki did his best to return the sentiment with an albeit-uneasy smile. They both knew that he was extremely distrustful. In contradiction to the others, he'd noticed, who had lowered their weapons, one-by-one. The archer kept a strong hold on his; something to be expected given their past.  
  
Still keeping a suspicious eye on him, the unarmed soldier and the spy moved in first to see the child, followed by Stark at an unruffled, leisurely pace. Only when Banner reappeared in the doorway did Loki snap to attention, concerned. But the monster-man slowed his pace drastically upon taking in the strange sight. "What... um - "  
  
"Hey, there he is!" Stark interrupted loudly, effectively breaking the tension. "Don't worry, you haven't missed much. Just a lot of awkward silence, and the fact that Thor here's a monkey's uncle." He slapped his hand on Thor's back in the traditional congratulatory manner. But he was met with several judgmental looks. He seemed unfazed. "What?" he asked of Thor, defensively. "With all your alien hyper-tech, you can't tell me we don't look like monkeys to you."  
  
There had been a time when Loki would have thought that quite the accurate statement. He furrowed his brow and looked upwards at nothing in particular, mostly concealing a smirk.  
  
Thor ignored the man's inappropriate humor and spoke with a more decisive tone. "It would be my pleasure, Brother. And rest assured, we will locate your fearsome mortal. However..." he hesitated. Hesitation was never a good thing coming from Thor. "I cannot allow you to continue to ravage the realms in some misguided attempt at vengeance. Until she is found, your freedom is a danger to us all."  
  
He looked down, giving Thor's words far more consideration than they deserved. Then he shook his head. "No. No, I must find her myself. No other is capable of it..."  
  
Thor looked up from his niece, and the soft expression he'd been giving her cemented itself into that of a fierce warrior. "SHIELD has told me all of what happened, Loki. They will find her using their own technology - "  
  
"Then why have they not already?" he hissed, raising his voice in outrage. The tracker had been no more than another pointless assault on her. "Is it because they don't care enough for the life of one of their own? Or is it because they _can't_?" he accused them, knowing full well the associations of present company.  
  
Thor looked down, but held his ground. "This is not a matter for debate. Either allow the mortals to contain you - you and your fits of rage - or I will." He searched for the others' reactions, which varied from slight nods of approval to impartial stoicism. "You should know that my soft heart affects this decision greatly, Brother. I do not believe Father would have been so kind." He turned his back to him in a final act of confidence. Slowly, he moved towards where he'd left Mjolnir... his way of eliciting from him any challenge he might have in mind before taking what he saw as necessary action. But this time he also held his daughter - not as a threat, but rather a gentle reminder of the very human bond they shared...  
  
He turned back towards him - the hammer now within easy reach - and opened his mouth to speak. But Loki was still considering his terms. No cell constructed by the mortals could hold him for long; that he knew for certain. But it had only been one day. And the humans were basically just as well-equipped as he was at the moment, to find her. Motivated as well... even if it was by their own intrinsic need to annihilate each other.  
  
Thor's voice reverted to the softer, joyful one every time he spoke to his niece. For a moment he seemed to be once again captivated by her appearance... but Loki knew what this state of distraction's real purpose was. He was giving him time to think, in the hopes that he'd 'see reason'. He touched the highest marking on the side of her cheek, surprisingly gently considering the size of those brutish hands. "Have you any idea how beautiful you are?" he asked her with the utmost sincerity.  
  
"I'll not be leaving her in the hands of another again, Thor. Not unless it is to save my queen. But, in the spirit of compromise, I am willing to give you and your friends some time to locate her for me." He thought for a moment. "Twenty-four hours. No more." Not even that would break his queen. Her mind was strong, and they needed her body alive. "We will not be spending this time anywhere near SHIELD," he clarified, "and if I detect as much as a single agent - " He stopped himself to glance at Agent Romanov and purposefully avoid the murderous expression on Barton's face. " - present company excluded - I will consider the deal as broken as the majority of that unfortunate mortal's bones." Barton drew his bow again, a sound which caught his attention. He froze, and allowed his gaze to shift lazily in that direction. He knew better than most the extent of the man's skill, and his incredible eagerness to use it...  
  
He did not withdraw the threat though, instead redirecting his attention to the others. "With this in mind..." he looked down. It was hard to verbally concede to such ridiculous terms. So he posed the question as more of a challenge. "...how do you propose to contain me?" He allowed a very slight smile to play upon his otherwise-menacing expression.  
  
Thor walked around the room slowly, in an attempt to console his niece, who had since begun to fuss. Loki smiled more openly and changed the subject, prompting the archer to let down his bow. "She will demand this of you often, I'm afraid. Her mother rarely stops moving, even when heavy with child." The statement - and a briefly sullen expression - subtly reminded them all of the fact that their creators and allies had been the ones to _steal her from them_ in the first place.  
  
"As much as I appreciate your willingness to bargain, Brother, what you propose is impossible. I know of no other mortal who possesses the ability to do this, and does not fear you..."  
  
"I'm gonna choose not to take that as a personal insult," Stark stated indignantly. He stepped forward, arms folded, and stared at Thor expectantly.  
  
Loki smirked to himself. Which probably came off as a rather wicked expression because of the tension in the room. But what he was actually doing was watching his brother try to remember the man's proper name. Metal Man, he thought to himself. It was that sort of thing which made him sound so witless. Metal Man. Say it. Metal Man...  
  
"Stark," he finally spit out. Disappointing. He rather enjoyed watching them argue over monikers. "My apologies." He smiled. "However I would not wish a caged Loki on the house of my worst enemy. Are you certain you can contain him here?"  
  
Stark looked almost suspiciously at Thor and, pointedly, not at Loki at all. "I am. If what you've told me about his magic tricks is all-inclusive and accurate, it actually shouldn't take much to Loki-proof the whole tower. We'll keep him here; out-of-trouble, and in far more luxury, comfort and style than he deserves." His eyes shifted over to him at last, casually, curiously. He was purposefully careless with his words, hoping to provoke him in front of everyone. He met them with a steely stare, the remnants of that smirk still lingering upon his lips.  
  
"It's probably for the best," Agent Romanov added logically. "Right now, SHIELD has concerns that aren't just Loki. Those 'mortals who call themselves Hydra' have Coulson on-edge, to say the least. Especially with all the recent infiltrations..." She stopped herself from saying too much. "He won't stop until that threat is neutralized. So... let's just let them continue putting all those resources to good use finding Hydra. They'll probably end up finding her as well. I'll keep you posted on that. But in the meantime, I feel like we could just... keep the Asgardian between us."  
  
Banner, he noticed, had been standing next to the soldier, arms folded, exchanging quiet words with him. After one such comment the soldier lifted his head to speak. "A few of us should stay here, just in case things do go belly-up." He looked over at Stark, who'd raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
Barton stepped forward to join them, never taking his eyes off of Loki. "I'll stay. I can help with all the spy tech. Plus... well, you already know. There are few things I'd appreciate more than the opportunity to put an arrow in his chest. Justifiably, of course."  
  
"Not that there's any _lack of faith_ in your technical genius Mr. Stark," The soldier added almost playfully, when not released from Stark's indignant stare. "I just don't think we should take any more chances with this one." The soldier blamed himself for allowing Sara's undercover mission to succeed. He was attempting to compensate for his failings. Not that it mattered, he thought slyly to himself.  
  
Unfortunately, Loki had once again underestimated the humans' level of creativity. They had, indeed, found a way to contain him. A 'retinal scan', they called it. The device guarding every door and window of his cage. Something he could not fool. He couldn't replicate what he could neither hear nor see. So he wandered the tower restlessly, as promised, having not much more to do than this, and fret. Though he did enjoy pampering his half-human daughter with all the amenities Stark could fetch for him, he worried constantly, and hoped he'd not misappropriated his trust in his honorable brother.  
  
Finally, the party returned... over two hours late. He scowled at them as they made their noisy approach, and not because his daughter was sleeping. Because they were alone.  
  
Thor seemed genuinely apologetic. "I am afraid we have failed you, Brother. It seems that your mortal... cannot be found." He hesitated more than a little at that conclusion. But he was bound by honor to keep his word. Thor _would not_ break his word...  
  
"Wait; you're not really going to let him do this, are you?" the meddlesome soldier interjected.  
  
"I must. We cannot simply leave her to the Hydra..."  
  
The man was frustratingly studious. He was glad he hadn't stayed. But he did notice the gradual narrowing of Loki's eyes as they spoke. He chose to address him directly. Fearlessly. "If you go after her, that puts all three of you in the same place. You two and Reinhardt - " He shook his head. "- I mean Whitehall. You'll be presenting the Council with a golden opportunity to kill three birds with one stone."  
  
His temper was beginning to show. They'd delayed him here, kept him caged for nothing. "You will release me..." he hissed, suddenly very close to the strong man's face.  
  
Stark saw another opportunity to poke the bear. "Sorry... Well, not sorry. I mean, I know I don't have a lot to say about this plan... but I'm curious: What makes you think you're in any kind of position to be demanding things of us?" he asked, exaggerating his glances around the makeshift Asgardian prison.  
  
He allowed his impatience to sharpen his tongue when addressing that man in particular. "I can see how this would be difficult for you to understand - what with your species having lost its... mental integrity, ages ago." He raised an eyebrow, mildly insulted. "Though the aesir are not always honest, we still place great value in honor. Thor gave me his word," he explained condescendingly, checking his brother's expression for any sign of guilt at its mention.  
  
"I did. But Steve the Captain has made a good point - "  
  
"I will be _more than happy_ to stay far from the mortals of SHIELD," he interrupted. " _I_ will not be requiring their help. And currently they have neither target nor motive with which to conduct this... mass extermination you speak of. Unless, of course, one of you tells them where I've gone..." he warned.  
  
Thor looked to the others, then nodded. "Very well." At that, Stark moved to one of the infernal devices, activated it with a scan and entered a very long sequence of code. Every door quietly, simultaneously unlocked. He and Thor exchanged a brief look before he left. A silent pact. Loki knew that Thor would morally disapprove of what SHIELD had done to his queen. And so there was no reason to worry that he might be tempted to keep them apart as well. Many unsavory things were hidden in Thor's nature - a tendency for blind loyalty, for example - but to keep a child from its mother would never be one of them. Their trust in _each other_ mattered not.  
  
Of course, most of what he'd told them was a lie. He'd no idea where Sara was. He would have to infiltrate the enemy, and use his superior intelligence to find her with their own technology. He needed only to be placed in the vicinity, and then he could find her himself. And with his skills, the fools would be none the wiser.  
  
On the off-chance that something would go awry, the blame would rest squarely upon the shoulders of the Avengers... any one of them. They were wary and distrustful; quick to suspect one another upon suggestion. Perhaps after retrieving his daughter and queen he would pay SHIELD a more conspicuous visit, just for the sake of entertainment.  
  
Spying on them was never difficult. Not when he could so easily slip past their perceptions. He found the suspected base of operations quickly... too quickly. Coulson had dedicated all his underlings to the task, and they were dangerously close to taking action. He would have to beat them to it. He'd long since lost track of her group of friends, so he would have to traverse the realm by more conventional means.  
  
Not knowing for certain what he might encounter at the end of his journey, and what would be required of him to defeat it, he made sure not to put too much effort into fooling the commoners he encountered along the way. Fortunately, in this realm, nearly anything could be accomplished with enough illusionary currency.  
  
He arrived at the fortress prepared to do his worst. But surprisingly, security was lax. It was no different in appearance or procedure from many of the mortals' other fine establishments. He followed one in... and searched it in its entirety. She wasn't there. Or she was... and the image he'd pilfered was not entirely correct. He began to listen in to their conversations with one another instead, spying on their devices, and paying closest attention to anyone who had the bearing of a leader. Soon he knew that she was, in fact, hidden away somewhere within. But so few were even aware of this, and he still could not sense her nearby. Suddenly, he realized why. Her containment was subterranean. Even on the most mundane of planets, if she were kept far enough below its surface, he was unlikely to be able to detect her through all the raw, natural energies between them.  
  
He scanned the nearest minds again, looking specifically for fear. The kind he'd felt from her before she disappeared. It was the easiest to sense in their minds, and it was surely still present in her. A sense of dread... fear of the immediate future, of imminent physical harm, and the shame of one's inability to fight it...  
  
There were several who felt it, suspiciously, all in the same area. In each one the motivation was fear of two entities, their actions hindered only by uncertainty for which one they feared most. One of them was... her! He could not help but grin. She was fighting them well enough to _make them fear her_. His own pride had overwhelmed his ability to perceive the mortals' minds clearly anymore. But he already knew where they were.  
  
When the door to that room finally opened, it was only for one man... an unusual one, to say the least. But all of that became irrelevant as soon as he saw his queen. She was just sitting there, in the center of the room, on the floor. Then, when first she'd opened her eyes, it became difficult to even remain silent. They were feral and deadened at once; all hope and morality gone from them... but that void had been filled with rage. She had already been broken, down to the basest of her being. He yearned to see what it was that had done this to her so quickly... but the dubiously-mortal man approached her first.  
  
"Ist was?" Her sweet voice dripped with the malice that lay beneath.  
  
"I should say so. You have, single-handedly, _killed_ one of my best men." Impressive, he thought. Stripped of all her power, she'd overcome her fears and killed another agent...  
  
"Not sorry."  
  
He waved his hand, and Loki held his breath. Unsure of her mental state, he'd have preferred to wait until she was alone. But if they caused her more harm in this moment, he would intervene. The man's guards simply left the room. "I don't expect you to be. But I can't help but wonder... if I might convince you to join our cause..."  
  
"I'd say I'm helping you out enough already. Giving you whatever supernatural bullshit I supposedly am. Weeding out the weak from your herd as well. Gern geschehen."  
  
"As an agent, Miss Iversen." He paused, but only briefly. "It would, of course, require a test of strength and loyalty. For you, one somewhat extreme."  
  
Surely he wasn't suggesting...  
  
"Give me back my daughter, and my loyalty is yours." She confronted him without hesitation. She didn't care. Or she'd not yet realized what he meant to ask...  
  
"We have already tried."  
  
"You already have a test in mind." She negotiated expertly, but made no attempt to hide the ruthless fury. "Tell me."  
  
He was not intimidated. "Correct. The test is very simple: kill your master."  
  
"Loki." She knew. She knew what he was asking, and yet her emotions did not shift in the slightest. Loki stepped back a ways and curled his hand over his lips. This wasn't just a question of loyalty. She _felt nothing_. It made him fear the worst.    
  
"Yes."  
  
"Would it free me from captivity?"  
  
He... had lost her. He cringed. _No_...  
  
"If you are successful, yes. I believe you are capable of killing a god. Your creator and your savior. Please, inform me now if I'm mistaken..."  
  
"No you are not."  
  
He closed his eyes as his own rage swelled within. He should have known. He'd made a mistake, thinking she'd cared for him. Human and aesir alike... All were disloyal, all were fickle and selfish and always, _always_ ready and willing to betray him. He collected himself quickly, while he still could, violently shoving those damaging emotions aside.  
  
He began to turn towards the door, but found himself barely contained. He regarded her one last time - with no more than acceptance, and disappointment. It was all he _should_ feel right now. Then he turned away, preparing to leave her to her fate.  
  
"What if I run?"  
  
"We'll find you."  
  
Pedantics. He cared not for their argument.  
  
"I thought you said I'd be free."  
  
"You would gain the status of an agent - as long as you remained compliant - with all the privileges thereof. However you still must wear the collar. We must be able to keep you _here_."  
  
"Oh... so, even then, you wouldn't trust me not to betray you."  
  
"No."  
  
Suddenly there was a scuffle. Mildly interested, he looked again, only to see her betraying the enemy as well. She had him on the ground, poised over him, with an unexpected weapon no less. For a moment his resolution wavered. Perhaps he would stay. Watch her for a while; until he was sure she was gone. He supposed he owed her that much. It would be a shame to lose such a deceptively formidable ally, as well.  
  
Several mortals then erupted into the room. They stopped her with weapons, but refused to kill her. Her own weak body was what betrayed her then. He joined the first party to leave, not even staying to watch them heal her wounds. He had no desire at all to remain in her presence, whether his was known or not.  
  
He knew that his daughter was safe in Thor's hands. As vapid and easily-influenced as the huge oss was, he'd sooner give his life than risk a child's. So he allowed himself to linger there, observing her inside and out. But after several days of this, his patience was wearing thin. _Not once_ did she pause to question her thoughts or actions. She showed no sign of remorse, or even of internal sadness. Only a certain... sadism. She lived to cause her captors pain. It seemed to be all that was left of her.  
  
He was very near the point of giving up one day, as he leaned pensively against the wall in the room with her. But he heard them coming for her, and once again he waited. As usual, they overcame her with sheer numbers... a coward's victory. But not before she'd brought one down, and rattled the rest in the room. Their struggle was interrupted by a superior... whose announcement had Loki stopping to listen for something else. He _heard_ them. The aircraft. The Captain had been correct. His enemies had found a way to detect them, one or more... and now, they would make the decision for him...  
  
His mind raced. The area would soon be little more than a crater, and with the speed these craft were capable of... If he wished to oppose this, he had only seconds to act. This far underground, an Asgardian might very well survive the attack, he surmised - but never a mortal. The weapons were designed specifically to leave none of their own alive. In a split-second decision he ran to her, grabbed her and brought them both down to the ground. Sentiment. It would be his demise in the end.  
  
The initial impact debilitated her just long enough for him to perfect his position, and then he was out of time. He looked down at her writhing, screaming form and pinned her down - her most fragile parts in place below his armored ones, as he was already feeling the relentless, searing impact of the savages' flame-based weapons. She shrieked in terror. She could not see him. He needed to overcome his own pain, and speak. "Sara!" It came out angry and dominating, but she hadn't heard it anyway. He repeated her name more loudly thrice more before she stopped. "Be still." He repeated that too. He knew not what else to say. There was no simple explanation for the ruthless cruelty that her own people unleashed upon them now.  
  
As soon as the worst had passed, he urged her to to her feet. But she was not herself. He kept his demands calm and simple. "Come, pet. Run. We must run." He could confront his emotions later. The enemy would return to survey the rubble, and he knew his body could not withstand a second attack. Though she looked directly at him through the blackest of smoke and flame, she refused to move - distrustful. Distrustful of him, reality and possibly her own mind, after such prolonged and expert abuse. She would fight him and anything he did, just as she had with them. Only his skill with words could convince her now. "Sara. I am real. I've not abandoned you. Do as I say... for our child."  
  
Her eyes widened. Whether she understood the situation fully or not, her maternal instinct lent her great strength of will. She followed him as best she could, eyeing him suspiciously and sometimes angrily, the whole time. Soon a disturbingly large number of heavy-sounding vehicles was coming their way, and the haze of their own destruction - their only cover - was dissipating... as indicated by her apparent reaction to his injuries. He cursed himself for allowing her to see them at all. Then, while she was still in shock from it, he seized her entire body. This alarmed her of course, but he had no choice. He could not afford to give her one this time.  
  
Though she continually tried to squirm out of it, he would not let her free from his grasp until they'd passed well out of range of the enemy's search capabilities. She refused to speak, primarily focused on escaping him, but weak in her attempts to do so.  
  
Scantily clad and barefoot, she shivered when he finally set her down. They were in the northern kingdom of Russia, which seemed to be perpetually blanketed in snow, dotted alternately with only thin woodlands and tundra. She scanned their surroundings for threats - which seemed to include him, although to a lesser extent. She maintained a defensive position constantly, as if expecting her enemies to reappear at any moment.  
  
"Calm yourself, pet," he soothed. She didn't react to his voice. He continued - though the kindness was slowly fading from it. He needed to know if she could still be trusted. She'd all but betrayed him already, and sentiment alone was the reason she was alive. "I could not help but overhear your conversation with their leader..." She turned an ear to him. "Had he promised you freedom from the collar as well... would you have done as he asked?"  
  
Suddenly he had her full attention. Something in her eyes sparked to life. That powerful, insatiable rage, aimed directly at him. Upon recognizing it he spoke more sternly, a potent warning in his voice. "I would not take a child from its mother," he clarified. "- no matter the answer you give." She stared him down, the slightest hint of a sneer on her lips, but chose not to respond. He did his best to conceal his agitation. "However I'm afraid I must insist that you speak. You're aware of my lack of tolerance for such blatant forms of treason."  
  
She lifted her head high and turned her back to him, quite disrespectfully. Yet she gasped in fear when he touched her shoulder. Before he knew it, she was mounting an all-out attack. It happened so quickly that he was caught off-guard. By a tiny, burned, injured and weakened mortal...  
  
She seized the hand touching her with both of hers, spun around and pulled hard on his whole arm, as if to bring him in for a strike. But when he would not be moved - more than happy to use the opportunity to re-establish how much stronger and heavier he was than she - she... grinned! It was more than just an oddity... there was something else in her; he could see it more clearly now. Something uncaring and sinister. Stronger than the fear it had conquered, and disturbing even to him... What, precisely, _had she become_?  
  
She used his arm for leverage, leaning back and plunging her foot into his stomach, then his neck, then kicking him hard in the jaw. Most painful, that. His head flung up and back involuntarily. She then kicked off of him and flipped backwards, letting go of it just in time to keep it from affecting her landing. She stood up straight, feet shoulder-width apart, hands out both to aid her swaying body in balance and to block any reactive strikes. She faced him, but she wasn't exactly looking at him - as he struggled to control his temper. Then she turned and fled.  
  
By the time he'd regained composure she was almost a hundred feet away. But there was nowhere for her to go. This reality seemed to escape her. He expertly filed away the most powerful aspects of the anger. But he could not simply allow this behavior, either. He conjured a perfect image of the man she'd feared the most, rising slowly from behind a drift of snow, singed and beaten senseless by debris. He appeared to her attempting to brush himself off, but he paused when she entered his line of sight, eyes widening just slightly in fiendish excitement - a nuance Loki had noticed in him before.  
  
It worked. She stopped dead, confused and terrified... likely trying to figure out how he'd survived the attack. But she didn't flee from _him_. The difference in reactions was an effective reminder of her readiness to betray her king. It angered him even further. While she processed the image he took several long, aggressive strides towards her... something she noticed upon finally turning around.  
  
He snapped up her wrist before she could flee again. Immediately she jerked back and tried to twist out of his hold. Why she'd not recalled any of their previous battles by then was well beyond him. As he pulled her in, she screamed, and made wild swings at him, which he dodged with ease. "Very well," he growled at her, holding both her arms above her head. "Let us not forget, there is another way for you to assure me of your loyalty." He smiled. "One which requires no words." He released the injured hand and pulled the other back down with excessive force. He waited for her to regain most of her balance and look up at him, then he lifted his chin and ordered in a smooth, low voice: " _Kneel before your king_."  
  
She struggled furiously against his grip for a while more... then suddenly there was something in his eye, causing it to sting, disturbingly warm and sticky... she'd spit on him! As he realized this, and carefully wiped it away, his own rage got the better of him.  
  
"You would have betrayed me then. And only to be free from _this_ ," he hissed, grasping the edge of the collar. He would not dishonor himself further by using the contraption against her, as they had. He didn't need it. He let her go and immediately gave her one good full-strength shove, causing her to fall onto her back in the snow. She couldn't help but shiver violently from that - wearing only the dirty, burned and soot-stained white tunic and a single piece of armor. But when he positioned himself over her to wrap his long fingers around the collar on either side of her neck, that fighting instinct took over her whole body. She screamed angrily, squirmed and punched him in several places. It was more insult than injury. "Perhaps if _I give you_ what you need, here and now, you might reconsider your disobedience." It took an impressive amount of strength, but the purpose it served to frighten her into relenting, for the moment, was worth it. He twisted and tore the metal ring in twain.  
  
Immediately she tried to teleport. But he already had her neck again. Ungrateful little cur. He leaned down over her quite gracefully despite her struggles. "Understand this:" he growled, "Traitor or queen, I will not tolerate this sort of behavior from you." He paused, holding her completely still to search her eyes for fear. There was none."I've told you this once before, haven't I? 'Never attack me again'," he taunted her darkly. "Do you remember?"  
  
She went limp, eyes wide, breathing heavily. But she didn't dignify that with a response. Not good enough. He lifted her up by the collar of her tunic with one hand, maintaining an iron grip on her neck with the other. She clawed at both his wrists. "I know that you hear me, pet." He dipped his head as if to oblige her insolence. "But I will ask again. Do. You. Remember?" She let out a few weak coughs, then closed her eyes and went limp again rather than grant him any acknowledgement. He drew her closer. "Hm?" Finally she managed a very slight nod. Another act of defiance. She'd refuse to speak unless forced to.  
  
He let her down, making a point to keep a fistful of her tunic- poised to do it again. "In the frame of mind you've worked so hard to bring about, I care not what goes on in your pretty little head," he informed her. When she finally did look at him it was naught but a withering glare. It almost surprised him with its intensity. He smoothed back her unruly hair and smiled confidently, reminding her precisely how he could do with her as he pleased. But each time she writhed defiantly beneath him he found his rage growing... as well as something else. She knew not what fires she stoked. Suddenly he knew exactly how to impress upon her these truths, and cow her into submission as well. He lowered his voice ominously. "This time, you will _feel my wrath_." It was not a phrase to be taken lightly.  
  
He held her down with one hand, pushed up her tunic and freed himself from his leathers, eliciting an angry scream. Her thrashing increased threefold once his intentions became apparent. He would always get what he wanted from her, he thought with a satisfied smirk. He leaned in and pressed more heavily on her chest, taking multiple frantic strikes. Most of them did not hurt. The rest served only to reinforce the necessity of the coming act.  
  
He paused, curious, when he noticed the blue beginning to stain his skin. Though it certainly took less effort now than it had the first few times, part of him was still concentrating on keeping her body fixed to this point in space. The rage was strong in him now - stronger than the spell and the effort combined, apparently. It was precisely this that he would show her. When she noticed the blue creeping up his arms as well, she used this momentary distraction to curl up and slip out from under him, then kick him in the ribs with both feet to break his grip.  
  
She flipped over quickly - knowing she would not immediately be able to gain control of her wild emotions - and brought forth a foot to stand on. But he seized the other before she could get away by either means. He laughed. She'd only succeeded in putting herself into position for the inevitable. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and climbed back on top of her, gripping the nape of her neck instead. Then he lifted her up, pushed up the tunic again and shoved himself inside her, forcefully but slowly, enjoying the feel of her muscles tensing up in fear. She shrieked, and attempted to twist down and out of his grip. But he held her fast, withdrew and rammed back in as brutally hard as he could in response. She aborted that method entirely, unable to function properly under his deep and unrelenting penetrations.  
  
Her screams repeated, increasing in duration and pitch, broken only by hastily-drawn breaths in her attempts to withstand his fury. He continued as he pleased, letting none of his own sounds of pleasure go unheard. He wanted to make it clear how much he enjoyed this... even more so when she struggled and clenched so tightly around him.  
  
Only once she'd lowered her head did he slow his assault to speak. "Continue to resist me, and I will only take you in ways which I know to cause you pain." Then he changed his tone. "I want you to cease this. _Give in to me_. Do as I say, and you will know pleasure..." He tilted his head and added calmly "....whether you want to or not." He pushed in all the way and paused there a moment, to give her a chance to respond. Then he pressed his lips together, slightly more aggravated. "Your decision matters not to me. I will have what I want either way."  
  
She caught him by surprise again, this time with no more than a few quiet sobs. Her tears had burned three holes into the snow beneath her, concealed by her shaking form. He decided to delve into her mind as well, to see if the pain was the cause. He thrust deeply and forcefully until she cried out again, and then he searched her mind. But no. They were tears of anger. She was helpless, frustrated... This drew from her a rage almost equal to his own. And yet he would give her no quarter... so she simply endured, arching her back a bit, accepting his cruel desires.  
  
That was all he'd wanted. A show of complete submission. And so he'd keep his word. He flipped her over quite roughly, but the angle would make all the difference. She closed her eyes to him and cringed when she felt him pressing on her again. It wasn't trust she showed, but surrender. He pushed into her, this time aiming upwards, and after a few more fervent thrusts she gasped and her eyes flung open.  
  
She began to let out little moans, increasing and alternating with those animalistic screams. She was still frustrated, but the pain he caused upon reaching her core was pleasing to her in a way; and he knew it. Her hands were clenched into fists on the ground, but he only watched her eyes, as they were finally beginning to shift his way each time he passed a certain point. He grinned and grabbed her thighs to push there harder, causing them to roll back into her head entirely.  
  
Crying out with every breath now, he feared she may soon lose consciousness. But this was not about her. As much as he tried to prolong the delicious feeling of power and control, reveling in the waves of immense pleasure she gave him, when she tensed up all at once he lost the battle. Sweet release consumed him, and those eyes widened even further as she felt it fill her... completely, he made sure of that, holding her to him tightly while he gasped in carnal bliss.  
  
Her resistance did not return during this final act of dominance. If it had, he may have withdrawn, despite the numerous times he'd been told that the pregnancy which had fatefully bonded them so was no more than a fluke. He was glad of all that had come of it, of course. But there was little hope of it happening again... at least not without countless more such encounters.  
  
Though she remained deathly silent, she followed him faithfully the entire way back to civilization. She looked as though she might speak a few times, looking up at him and even parting her lips. But upon gaining his full attention she'd close them and look away. It was as if she'd simply forgotten how to speak to him. However, she seemed to know that if she followed, she would finally be reunited with her daughter. It was all that mattered now.  
  
When they reached the hidden vehicle - and he took the form of a man other than the one who'd commandeered it - she smiled very slightly, as if the act of falseness had finally assured her of his authenticity. He simply smiled back (with the face of a handsome young businessman). But when they entered the airport she began to noticeably quake. He'd 'dressed' her in fine clothing as well, but with this they were still getting stares. She jumped when he put his hand on hers. She was positively speechless, unwittingly turning the cold, bitter stare onto him when he did. Cautiously, he pulled her close to him, holding her, as if her distress were a normal occurrence. Then he whispered to her almost silently so that no other human would hear. He had a theory. "You hate them... don't you pet?"  
  
She nodded sadly. It was a feeling he knew well. When she looked at her own people she tried to see the differences, between them and the ones who'd wronged her. She tried... but she could not. She saw each one as a potential enemy now, no matter how innocent the appearance. It instilled in her a burning desire to eliminate all of that threat and do what was right for this realm. They finally understood each other.  
  
"Fear not, my lovely mortal. For if you are loyal to me..." He paused and waited for her to look into his eyes again. He revealed himself only to her, while maintaining the illusions around them both. "... you will have such a _healing_ revenge." Her gaze faded - he could see it - as she as pulled back into the rage. "Not one so crude as before..." He lifted her chin back up. "One worthy of a Queen of Asgard." Finally it seemed she was melting beneath him, and he donned his most charming grin. She turned to him, her inner strength slowly returning in his presence, stood on her toes, grasped his hair and kissed him, as if nothing existed outside of their passionate embrace. No SHIELD, no Hydra, no world, nor its flaws, or the stares from the very people whose fate they had just confirmed.


	34. The Hand That Feeds

The entity known as 4372 feared no one. No one except for Loki. And that was more of a... very deep respect. And she'd never been happier in her life.  
  
She'd only just gained a more complete perspective on the ones she _used to_ fear. She was still kind-of processing it, actually, as she followed her king, watching him charm and deceive his way through all the trials of their painfully mundane means of travel. How could a creature be so depraved, yet so naive. Deceptively impure. They all were, deep inside. Some more deeply than others.

Fortunately, her experiences with them had finally forced her to go down _the right path_. The darkest, most intimidating one that the Tesseract had shown her as a way to possess its knowledge, and use it all, while retaining a sound mind. Frightening though it was, it was the only one now that could save her from their fate. The skills it had helped her to master would be used to empower Loki - as they were meant to be, all along.

She had no illusions of sainthood. She and Loki were the same. The world would perceive them as evil. But evil was only a name assigned to the agents of change and the chaos that followed, because of a relentless, illogical and _increasing_ fear of it.

If left to its own devices, this realm would remain in a perpetual state of ruin as they squabbled, each proclaiming themselves closer to perfection than the other. But it was actually the change and the chaos which were perfect. Constant. Immortal.  
  
She shook in the presence of others. But it wasn't from fear anymore. It was her fighting the urge to use her reclaimed power. She wanted to annihilate _all_ of the corruption around her. She saw it everywhere, all the time... and had to keep reminding herself that she _couldn’t_. While the skill and its urges were now sharper than ever before, the time she'd spent with Hydra trying to conduct an escape - certain that she'd no other hope and therefore had nothing to lose - had drained her nearly dry of all that energy.

Knowing this, Loki helped her control herself. The sweet nothings that he whispered into her ear reassured her, in various ways, that good things come to those who wait.  
  
Stares. Random strangers stared. Stark's receptionists, his guards and employees stared. And, to a lesser extent, the Avengers themselves did too. They'd all seen much stranger things than her though - even the restless, savage version of her that entered their safe-haven under Loki's arm, burned, bruised and bloodied, half-naked, and trembling.  
  
Steve Rogers - often affectionately referred to as ‘Cap’ - stood at attention, always on-guard, though his eyes clearly showed some concern. It wasn't what she was looking for. Barton - Hawkeye, she remembered - followed them discreetly, also quite tense, though his piercing eyes remained entirely fixed on Loki. He gave her nothing to see. Bruce Banner concealed his perpetual state of worry with a kind smile as she passed, and Agent Romanov gave her a blanket she'd pulled from somewhere so quickly that she hadn't even noticed the movement. She handed it to her respectfully, no pity in her eyes, only kindness and a certain... warrior's respect, she supposed. A welcome change, but also not what she was looking for. As Loki helped her wrap it around herself she kept moving, until intercepted physically by their host. Iron Man. 'Metal Man'. Tony Stark. He put himself directly in her path, which eliminated the awkwardness of her thus far having ignored him, and also made her kind of want to attack him. He seemed to sense this, eyeing her from under a raised brow. So he offered her a friendly drink. She couldn't help but smile slightly at that as she side-stepped him, searching for the one she'd not yet seen.  
  
Finally Thor appeared. Though his pace seemed excruciatingly slow, she found herself unable to meet him, or move at all for that matter, the moment she caught a glimpse of her daughter. She was unharmed, sleeping comfortably, in a simple little white dress made of something soft and light. Without a word he placed her into her mother's waiting arms, giving Loki an oddly apologetic grin...  
  
They all stared then, as her shaking abruptly stopped, replaced by a steady, involuntary flow of tears. It was all she could do. Smile, laugh pretty much insanely and weep, as all the love in the world flowed through her and into the tiny being she held in her very own arms at last.  
  
Loki bent down to pick up the blanket, which had apparently fallen to her feet. He wrapped it around her shoulders again, carefully avoiding covering the baby as well. She gave him a funny look. "The warmth of her mother's love is all she requires now," he explained, eloquently reminding her of their daughter's unique biology. 'Their daughter'. The daughter of Loki. Never in her life would she have thought that a child would bring her such happiness... least of all _his_. Her baby was very warm of course, and soft, and beautiful... Her bright green eyes focused briefly on her mother's lovingly bewildered gaze.  
  
She scanned each of the Avengers' faces, defensively at first. She couldn't even help it anymore. Then, to counteract the ferocity she saw a few of them reacting to, she managed to eek out some words. "Thank you." She looked away quickly - back down at her daughter - afraid to say anything else. Surely her voice would be laced with some evidence of the new sense of purpose she'd found. But they seemed, somehow, to understand. They just weren't sure what she’d become, after all that. All they knew was that she'd soon be very dangerous.  
  
Stark looked like he might say something, but changed his mind at the last second. He was only a few feet away now - one of the three who felt comfortable enough to come close and witness the joyful reunion. She'd seen all their movements, in her state of heightened awareness. Agent Romanov was also close by, standing with her arms folded, a trace of a heartfelt smile in her eyes. The Captain put more effort into concealing the same expression, covering it up with one of wary contemplation. And Banner, though he kept more of a distance, was simply fascinated. He looked from her to her baby and occasionally even Loki. He was discreetly focused on their half-alien offspring. Being a biologist, she took no offense to that, and expressed that sentiment with a second of less-than-venomous eye contact.  
  
"Um..." Stark had decided to speak. "You're - ah - leaking, some, my dear." She followed his gaze down to the big, soft grey carpet on which she stood. It had already soaked up quite a bit of blood, which had been dripping down her leg from the self-inflicted wound Hydra had so kindly fixed up for her. It seemed she'd torn a few stitches. Blood was seeping from the bullet hole down her arm as well, though it hadn't made it there quite yet.  
  
She quickly stepped off the carpet and onto the hardwood floor, as if that were going to help.  
  
He held up a hand. "Don't worry about it. Not the first time." He tilted his head, reminiscing. "Not the first blood. Or the first _carpet_..." He realized he was babbling and stopped to address the issue. "Anyway... why don't you come with us and get all that fixed up? Doctor Banner here is _very_ good at dealing with massively debilitating injuries of all kinds." He put forth his best big-eyed, 'harmless good guy' expression, and waited for her response.  
  
At the mention of his name, Banner looked up. He shrugged. "Well I've... had a lot of practice." He looked her over more thoroughly - the stitches in her palm, the burned edges of her tunic and the various patches of medium-rare skin all over. Scrapes and bruises from all the failed attempts to fight and escape things... Sores on her shoulders and collarbone from that horrid device...  
  
She looked away shyly, but was well aware that it may not have been enough. Her eyes would always betray her, revealing the inner turmoil; ever-burning embers just waiting to be fueled into those uncontrollable flames of rage. Few things were able to bring her back from that; her daughter being the only certain reminder of her humanity. But she wondered how long she could survive in this, or any civilized place, this way. She wasn't good at concealing it with acting, the way Loki did. Stark was beginning to notice. She suspected the Captain of it as well. And that's when Loki stepped forward. "Come, My Queen." He offered her his hand, then looked to Banner and Stark. "We accept and appreciate your generous offer of healing." Healing. His very much intentional choice of words reminded her that she wouldn't have to put up with it for long.  
  
Banner led them to what appeared to be his own personal lab, based on how well he seemed to know it. He motioned for her to sit on a table while he expertly retrieved all the supplies he would need to stitch her back up. She did, all the while holding her baby close, attempting to soothe away the crying she was thinking of doing. Banner came back. "Before we start, may I offer you something for the pain?" he asked in a comically-polite manner. Her now-default expression of contempt softened just a bit. She could tell he was used to dealing with big tough superheroes, whom half of the time would say 'no'. Cap seemed like one. Barton definitely was.  
  
The baby's fussing escalated, and Banner attempted to help, smiling down at her, then gently placing his hand on her little head. His eyes flickered between them the whole time he was near. "She gets uncomfortable sometimes. It's a little too warm for her now - because she's half-jotun, I suppose. It's not a big deal so far, but we've been keeping an eye on it." He removed his hand and stepped back. "However... this time she's just hungry."  
  
After a moderately awkward silence, Sara realized the question the doctor was trying not to ask. She kept her eyes on her daughter, hoping it would give her the strength to keep her true nature to herself. "Would the pain medication affect that?"  
  
"Um..." He turned around to dig through everything on one of his well-stocked shelves. "No; I have one here that won't."  
  
"Then it would be a... great relief, to say the least. Thank you." She went directly from thinking of all the ways Banner might attempt a preemptive strike - sizing him up using her memories of his SHIELD file - to wanting to hug the man. Instead she looked down again. Just the reality of not having to endure any more pain had her fighting off tears of joy.  
  
Unfortunately, Loki insisted that she let Banner fix _every_ freaking thing. So she summoned every ounce of self-control and allowed it, as best she could. She didn't want to _be touched_ anymore, she couldn't force herself to lie on another table, and she just wanted to get it all over with. At least she knew she wasn't a threat to him. While Loki went somewhere 'not far' to feed their daughter, he called Stark back to the room to cut off the bulletproof vest. Then he put in new stitches, cleaned and re-dressed her wounds, and assessed the severity of each and every little scratch and burn at Loki's specific request.  
  
She followed him back into the main room looking like half a mummy, every damaged part wrapped up in white, but singed and covered in ash between the bandages. In an attempt to seem normal, she found a seat and accepted a glass of water - passed to her by Cap - but was afraid to really speak to anyone there. She needed to speak with _Loki_ , she thought, as he handed her back their daughter. In private.  
  
As soon as the baby had quieted again, she crept up behind him, grabbed his wrist and addressed Thor, whom he'd been talking to, politely. "Excuse us." She brought the three of them to the roof of the building. Again. A simple teleport, yet it tested her constitution all the same. Her heart raced, and she had to stand still for a minute, all the while fully absorbing the reality of this... weakness. This place was a wise decision. It was much easier to reappear where she'd been before, and she was always drawn to the high spots - simply because she liked them.  
  
Apparently her daughter did too. She wasn't bothered by the wind, the change in air pressure, temperature, light source... that general feeling of being abruptly relocated. Her eyes moved around, but her only concern was that bottle, and how quickly she could empty it of its contents. Loki didn't take it quite so well. He re-assessed his surroundings, then indignantly moved away.  
  
"Loki... how long are you planning to stay here? I want to go back to Asgard." Something she thought she'd never say. He just stood there with his back to her. She looked at her feet. "I can't really _hurt_ anyone there."  
  
"I will prevent this from happening... " he replied somewhat condescendingly. He stopped and turned an ear to her, inviting her to spill the rest.  
  
"I - " It was hard to say to him, but she summoned the courage, lifted her chin and spoke quite clearly. "I'm not sure that you _can_."  
  
He turned around slowly with a low, bemused chuckle. "It seems I've created a monster." She gave him an exasperated look as he began to pace, pensively, moving in her general direction. "I only ask that you regain your strength - all of it - before I give you my gift."  
  
She eyed him suspiciously. "Gift?” He knew she would ask. Why bother being cryptic? “Why do I need my strength?" she asked with exaggerated curiosity.  
  
So he could don an evil smirk. "The gift of chaos. Of change. For the better, of course. I will change this world for you. And for her." He looked at their child with the pride of someone who had just created a masterpiece. "Together we will cleanse, correct, and then set your feral soul free upon this realm. You have only to grant me patience... and trust my methods."  
  
She furrowed her brow at that. The plan had been completely derailed, by SHIELD alone... Then she smiled to herself. Leave it to Loki to have a secondary and tertiary plan for world domination. Suddenly she noticed that he'd been staring at her breasts, making no gentlemanly attempt to be subtle about it. He used the distraction to change the subject. "Now. You intend to provide nourishment for our child, yes?"  
  
She blushed. "I... suppose I should. But I don't think I'm... of use, anymore."  
  
He grinned, but looked down as he approached. "If you would allow it, I can change that." She stared uncertainly. "I would prefer that your body begin the process more quickly than it would without my help."  
  
When she didn't respond, he raised his eyebrows at her. "Is this acceptable?" She could feel her face beginning to glow red, with the embarrassment of having no idea how to do any of this... but Loki saw her struggles and relieved her of them with a charming smile. "Only the best for a Princess of Asgard." His smile could help her get over anything.  
  
He led her back down into the tower; to a room they'd apparently set up for the unexpected baby. It was actually several adjacent rooms, like a fancy hotel suite, but the door to this one was propped open. It probably wasn't just Thor tending to her, she realized. Alien or not, she was still a helpless child, and Thor was considered a valuable ally, if not a friend.  
  
The main room was was packed full of everything one could possibly need to properly care for a newborn baby - to the point of it seeming a bit neurotic perhaps. Stark had probably just run out and _bought_ it all. Cautiously, Loki took their daughter from her, all the while looking into her eyes for reassurance. He tucked her lovingly into her crib, then made his way back to where she stood, holding herself instead. His expression was outwardly sincere, but there was a spark of anticipation in his eyes whenever he looked at her weak, dirty and horribly damaged body. It was the strangest feeling she'd gotten from him in a long time. She wondered how in the world he could still be attracted to someone in such a sorry state.  
  
Still smiling a little, he explained. "I stayed with her here for a while - before they allowed me to search for you myself." He sounded more than a little irritated about that. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, fighting the anger associated with fresh memories of sitting in that cell, sobbing, trying to console herself with every possible reason he might have for _not being able_ to save her. The Avengers were never amongst the suspects. "I requested a room without surveillance." She looked around. No cameras. He waved his hand at her. "Remove your coverings."  
  
She did as he said of course, but was still feeling uneasy about it. "How... What are you going to do?"  
  
He paced around her, watching her carefully obey him, hands behind his back. He stopped, grinned and stared for a moment as she unceremoniously dropped the dirty tunic onto the floor. "Lovely." Somewhat reluctantly, he raised his eyes. "I will simply ask them to begin producing again. There will be no residual effect. It will be as if you had never been separated." He stepped up to her from behind, and put both his hands over her heart. He was so gentle... but she would probably be nervous always, for the rest of her life now, she feared. "There will be some discomfort of course, as they fill with your milk again. But this is easily relieved."  
  
Slowly, he crossed his arms over her chest, wrapping them around her, his long fingers sliding out until they reached her breasts. He stopped there, grasping them. "Mmm. I do find it difficult to restrain myself, pet," he hummed darkly into her ear. She giggled and relaxed a little. She loved his darkness. All of it. He centered his palms over her nipples and closed his eyes. Suddenly she remembered something: being held like that had always felt _so good_. He was supporting her unsteady, aching body with his own physically, and soothing her mentally at once. There was nothing more comforting in this world... and perhaps there was hope for her yet. She allowed herself to just enjoy the feeling, for however long he was willing to give it. It had to have been at least an hour... the last of which began to freak her out a little. She could feel a pressure building beneath his hands. And when the baby began to cry again she found it more... distracting, on a subconscious level. She wanted to go to her now. When Loki released her he immediately stepped away to her side, indicating with no more than an outstretched arm that she do so.  
  
She picked her up and held her to her bare skin lovingly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Actually, it kind of was. Just not to her inexperienced mind. Loki may very well be entirely responsible for that feeling, she thought. He moved behind her again and he held her close, lifting her arms suggestively, until she was in the right position for her to nurse, apparently... because she did! So easily - such a strong desire for something she'd never even known before. The biology fascinated her. It was a beautiful feeling as well - a relief, and a sense of purpose, that she was finally able to give her child what she needed. Loki eased any remaining tension she had for the odd sensation. "The instinct to survive is strong in jotun children. She is likely to accept your offerings eagerly every time."  
  
She laughed a little, remembering. "She was always hungry on the inside, too." Then she began to worry. "I was eating like a horse... am I going to be able to make enough for her?"  
  
"There is no way to be certain," he said softly. "But, if you cannot, there are other means." He lowered his head down to hers. "I know that you worry My Queen. But you are an excellent mother." She wasn't so sure about that. But he was quite emphatic. "The image of you here and now - fresh from the fires of Hel yet strong, and so blissful in providing for our child, as only you can do... it is beautiful, Sara. _Breathtakingly_ so."  
  
She just stared into space for a minute, speechless. She didn't really understand how she could go from where she was: a state of fear and being able to _sense_ fear, loving it, as well as the feel of a blade sinking into the flesh of anyone who dared touch her - to such a soft, tender and loving human being again. It was like coming back from the dead. The scientist in her likened it to the role of a mother tiger: a merciless killer by nature, but always gentle, patient and especially devoted to her offspring. The bliss between those extremes was having the strength to _protect_. She would protect her baby with all she now harbored inside... a ferocity the likes of which had yet to be seen on Earth. She drifted towards the bed in the adjacent room. Hopefully this new will to live, to continue on and care for her child, would grant her some form of control in that moment - should it come.  
  
And so, they stayed with their unwitting allies. Turns out, it had been at Thor's own request. He was concerned for them both - though Loki would never admit to his rapidly-healing wounds. It felt fabulous to have a shower, and a pause in the stress with which to heal. But she was always on-edge, always ready for a fight. All she needed was for Loki to say the word. These weren't her friends. They were idealistic, naive, and annoyingly blind to the horrific, decaying state of the world around them. Whatever Loki had planned, he was so confident in it that he wasn't the least bit nervous, nesting in the tree above his enemy. And as she felt her power returning to her, little by little each day, her loyalty to him was the only thing keeping her there.  
  
They watched her whenever she was near them. All of them. Studying her so carefully that she began to wonder how much they'd figured out. They noticed how she held her daughter obsessively, throughout the majority of each day. They recalled what happened, each time, to make her tremble. Every little move she'd made... or so they thought. It was easy to tell individually what they knew, or thought they knew. But when they gathered, they shared their observances; putting things together... she heard them.  
  
Whenever someone would have the misfortune of looking into her eyes they'd always react defensively, however subtle. A shift in stance. A glance to check the wariness of the cohort closest to her. A stealthy hand, or a fist clenched just a little more tightly around a weapon of notorious deadliness...  
  
At least Cap made an effort to _seem_ oblivious. He'd give her a friendly nod when they passed each other, and sometimes she'd smile back - but inevitably avert her eyes, afraid of what he might see. She was on her way to check on her very sleepy baby girl one day when she saw him, though he didn't nod this time. Then a sudden strong hand on her chest stopped her abruptly in her path. She grabbed the offending arm and kicked the elbow in, up and off of her. Blinded by hatred, she feigned a strike to the gut so when the other hand came in to block she was already in position to break it. But she was immediately met by a vibranium shield. She gasped, and looked up to his face. "I - I'm sorry!" Shaking, she forced a smile and an uneasy laugh. "You really scared me there, Cap."  
  
He kept the shield in place, in front of him - and his smile definitely wasn't genuine. He turned his head and scoffed. "Only my friends call me Cap." She furrowed her brow at him, taken aback by this sudden agitation, though surely she hadn't harmed him...  
  
He shrugged. "It bothers me some. Disrespects the military's ranking system. I'm not really a captain, you know. They just called me that. Kinda like you're not really a queen. Not here, anyway." She backed away, hands out, all the while searching for someone to mediate the confrontation before she reached that point...

He was just calm enough to keep her from wanting to attack him, but he did advance on her, eyes down, keeping a casual distance. "SHIELD tells me that several of the numbers you freed have gone missing, since the battle." When she was stopped by the wall he looked into her eyes, determination unwavering. "You killed them, didn't you? You killed anyone who went against you. Anyone who wasn't good for your image."  
  
He stared relentlessly from a few feet away, until she spoke. He wanted words. She'd give him words. Whatever it took to keep calm; a perfect, _normal_ balance between compliance and indignant anger. "I... incapacitated, _anyone_ who was more of a threat than a help to this world. But some of them just couldn't be stopped. I did what I had to do." She raised an eyebrow and finally made eye contact with him, careful to show only that same fearless pride. "I killed a hell of a lot more Hydra agents. You gonna mourn that loss as well?"  
  
He looked away, then leaned in just a bit, lowering his voice. "Just don't slip up again," he warned, shaking his head. "Not here. And if Loki _is_ planning something... well, I recommend that you disassociate yourself from him as soon as possible."  
  
She glared, preparing a scathing retort. But just then Stark came in. "Hey... guys..." He sensed that he'd interrupted something. He didn't seem to care. "How's Baby Blue doin today? Is the room staying cool enough now?"  
  
She nodded, giving him a weak and downcast smile. "Thank you again. You've been so... kind -" she teared up a bit, just enough for him to notice and perhaps plant the seeds of suspicion regarding good old 'Cap'. It was easy for her to do. She'd wanted to as soon as he'd reminded her of the intimidation tactics of Whitehall. She rushed away, right past him, into her daughter's room and closed the door.

Loki heard the outermost door to their temporary residence open and close, but no one entered further from there. And as much as he didn't wish to disturb the little one on his chest - lulled to sleep by his heartbeat - he found that very suspicious.  
  
He silently closed his book and set it on the bed. No other sound came from that room. So he held her to him and rose up, prompting a small whimper of discontent at being awakened... yet fortunately nothing more, this time. He peered around the corner to find that no one was there after all. But he had only heard it once...  
  
As he stood there, contemplating, his precious daughter's voice grew clearer, and louder. So he dismissed it for now, and resolved to attempt a return to their mutual state of relaxation. Then suddenly his queen appeared.  
  
He secretly loved that moment, when she first would appear before him, knelt down as if paying him homage. He smiled as she stood. She swayed slightly, but quickly regained her strength. Her recovery was truly impressive. She wore her Asgardian armor, he realized - she'd just returned from Asgard! But in addition to the weakness she seemed... mildly distressed. "Armor up," she said, as she tossed an undamaged set of his own custom armor onto the bed. "I've just made an enemy of Captain America."  
  
He could not help but chuckle slightly, as he neared her tense, heaving form. He placed his free hand on her shoulder and eyed her reproachfully. "Surely you must realize that our enemies are of little concern." He glanced at the armor. A perfect, complete set, with all his preferred accessories. "However, I've found in this realm that one's armor is never superfluous. And the renovation, of course, will not be without its violence."  
  
She smiled at the mere mention of it, undisturbed by the thought of a battle. Already, she was able to travel to familiar places in other realms. It would not be long now. He gave her a prideful grin.  
  
The power was coming back _so_ slowly... and she was becoming restless. She could've hurt him, badly. She could hold her own against any of them now - but she _wouldn't_ , she reassured herself repeatedly, summoning the courage to make another visit to Stark's monolithic Fridge of Delicious Things.

She made a point to reappear where they could see her... calm, and cool as a cucumber. She simply couldn't resist the urge to remind them that her ability _was_ , after all, unstoppable - and perhaps it wasn't a great idea to threaten her unprovoked. She smiled very slightly - mostly at Barton, and Rogers upon catching his eye. But it was all she could do, after Asgard, to keep her weakness concealed. She was beginning to think there was something very wrong... more so than all of the injuries that _showed_. Hydra had _done something_ to her. Hydra'd had no care for her well-being, as long as they could still get what they wanted out of her. And she still wasn't sure what that was.

She needed to figure it out. Even the little things, like this exhaustion, shouldn't have lasted this long. But she couldn't trust Banner with everything.  
  
She waited until they were all asleep, in their various places of comfort - none of which included Banner's cold steel lab. The first thing she did was take a blood sample. Easier said than done to oneself. But she couldn't stop thinking about what the hell Hydra had done to her, what they'd _put in_ her, every single day, despite the dreaded battles. She was beyond nervous, but she steadied her thoughts enough to make sense of what she saw in the results. Normal, normal... um - normal enough, normal... and then her heart skipped a beat. _What._  
  
"Is there something I can help you with?" She almost jumped out of her skin. Bruce Banner had had plenty of time to stealth up on her, lean against the door frame, arms folded, and analyze her strange behavior... at least the whole time she'd been distracted, staring at the paper in her hands in disbelief.  
  
"I... um..." She had nothing.  
  
He looked down at the object of her fascination and furrowed his brow, showing nothing but friendly concern. "Well, something is clearly amiss." He held out a hand. "May I offer a second opinion?"  
  
She handed it to him wordlessly. Sure, why not, she thought. It's not like it's something I can hide.  
  
He delicately applied his reading glasses, inspected it - and his eyebrows shot up immediately. He double-checked what he'd seen, one finger tracing the line across to be sure. Then he let out a short breath and glanced back up at her, from halfway behind the paper. There was a tense sort-of half-smile on his lips. He looked over his glasses at her dubiously. "We need to do some more tests," he asserted. She nodded, staring off into the distance, and pressing a fist to her mouth.  
  
She cooperated fully with everything Banner suggested, though her jumpyness was even worse. Because of their oh-so-distant past, if she _had_ to trust any one of the Avengers, it was him. A large part of her wanted to cry. Or to run. Maybe both. Run away; or run to Loki. Overwhelmed, she didn't even react when he found her and entered the room.  
  
She was sitting on the table, staring at the floor, a profusion of complex information and emotions flooding her distant mind. He rushed to her side, being extra careful not to threaten Banner in any way, though she could tell he kind-of wanted to. "What is the matter, pet? Why are you here in the night?" He put a hand on her shoulder. "You mustn't conceal from me anything wrong -"  
  
"Oh, there's definitely nothing _wrong_..." Banner corrected, with the utmost sincerity. He did, however, have a big cheesy grin on his face. He looked away, stepped back and stationed himself several feet away... letting her do the honors.  
  
"Loki, I...." It wasn't the right word. Nothing was. She still couldn't believe it herself. It was so... insane. That was the best word for it. For the hundredth time though, it seemed she would have to slow down her own thoughts to function. Calm, she reminded herself. Just - start with the basic concept. "I'm pregnant..." She had more to add... "Ahmm..."  
  
He furrowed his brow and glanced at Banner. Then he took a seat on the table next to her, cast his gaze downward and put his hand on her leg. "As much as I would love another..." he shook his head. "...great gift, of that nature, this occurrence is nearly impossible."  
  
"I know," she admitted. "But Loki..." She sighed, looking briefly to Banner for support. He was still grinning. "It's true." She gave him an uneasy smile. She wasn't ready for this...  not at all. The first time had been a genetic oddity, a fluke, a rarity... two completely different species being able to conceive... but now _this_...  
  
His eyes widened as he realized how certain they both were. "How is this possible?"  
  
"I have a theory." Banner raised a finger to chime in. "Hydra wanted her DNA for its compatibility, right?" He actually looked to them both to confirm this before continuing. "In that case, they'd want to obtain it in its easiest form to use - unable to replicate it from your blood, I assume." She closed her eyes, verifying that with her memories as objectively as possible. "Well... the best way to do that, if you're pressed for time and don't really care much about your, uh, female subject -" He glanced at the bullet wound, which gave him confidence. "and they _didn't_ \- would be to flood your system with hormones so your body makes far too many healthy ovum at once and extract them surgically... over and over, until any one of _a number of_ bad things happens to you mid-cycle and prevents them from doing it again." He spit out the rest quickly, embarrassed that he even had this knowledge and disgusted by the thought of it actually happening. Good old Hydra - the polar opposite of everything humanitarian.  
  
Loki stood up suddenly, angrily - looking like he might grab Banner by the collar and demand more answers from him. But Banner barely had time to raise an eyebrow before he calmed himself. Just as she had. Actually, she'd learned it from him. Don’t suppress your emotions, control them. Observe them from a distance and use the power they had over you to fuel your actions towards the source.

He turned his attention back to her and knelt down, so gracefully, putting him right in her line of sight. But he looked down with raised eyebrows for a second, still absorbing it all. "This is a... _wondrous_ , thing..." Then he looked directly into her eyes with an expression that demanded honesty. "However do you wish to gift me with a child again, so soon?"  
  
"Children," she corrected. But the word alone was ambiguous. "There are three." She kept her statements simple so as not to fall victim to the shock of the words that left her lips. She felt like she might pass out. Instead, she just let go. She blinked, and the tears came all at once, out of nowhere. Again, she was so afraid...  
  
He stood up and stared for a minute, unsure of what to do. Banner stayed put, and avoided Loki's gaze when it happened to fall to him. He didn't know either. Nobody knew except _her_. Loki took both her hands, pulling them gently forward, and reluctantly she stood up. Immediately he held her to him, as he spoke in a soothing yet somewhat chiding tone. "No more tears from you, My Queen. Your decision should bring you peace. And nothing more." He held her head as she sobbed, for several minutes, letting his soft, green tunic soak it up. Then, when she’d settled down a bit, she put her hands on his chest and slowly pushed away.  
  
Loki eyed her uncertainly, pressing his lips together, waiting for her to speak. She opened her mouth, but it was too much to explain. When she didn't attempt again, he urged her to. He took a step forward and caught her gaze again. "Tell me, pet. Allow me to know what... demons, this event has brought forth to torment your brilliant mind... and surely I will slay them."  
  
And so, she decided to try. "You just... everyone keeps doing things, to my body... " She closed her eyes for a moment. "And... my body is not my mind; it's not 'me'. Believe me, I understand that. But SHIELD just... broke 'me' down... into little, tiny pieces..." She held up a hand and pinched her fingers together. But they all curled into a fist. "And then, Hydra _burned_ them." Surprised at her own rageful tone, she looked into Loki's eyes. Somehow, he helped her to murder all those memories that were dragging her into the darkness. She took a deep breath. "I no longer recognize this... creature, that rose from my own _fucking_ ashes..." Angry, she began to tear up again.

He stood perfectly still, with his hands behind his back, listening intently. He wanted her not to stop. She shook her head, incredulous. "I shouldn't be having _children..._ I'm the worst role model a kid could ever have! I mean, I _want_ them..." She paused as she broke into tears again, then forced herself to continue. "But I can't in good conscience be _there_ for them... And - god or not - I can't just let you raise four children alone. I don't know which possibility is the worst: if I leave them with a single father, if I just... opt out of it all, or if I bring them into this world and then _I'm_ what they look up to. What they aspire to be. I'm a threat to everyone around me. Coulson was right. I'm a sociopath. A powerful one. No matter how you see me, Loki, I'm NOT a GOOD PERSON!"  
  
He waited, to be sure that she was finished. She wrapped her arms around herself and dropped her gaze back to the floor. Then, finally, he lifted his chin. "You needn't be 'good' - in the eyes of others - in order to be a good mother," he stated firmly. "A dragon returns to love her brood from that which she's just destroyed. For no reason more than _her nature_." He smiled slyly as Banner raised his head, perhaps to counter that point. However, he did not. He simply watched as Loki stepped up to her and placed his strong hands on her shoulders. His tone softened, and there was a _very_ compelling strength and a kindness to his words. "As before, I would promise you comfort. But most _unlike_ before, you now have seen the fire. And since you could not defeat it..." he tilted his head, genuinely impressed by the thought. "It seems you have _become_ it."  
  
She averted her eyes again. But she pondered his words' true meaning. What he'd said out loud was metaphorical enough so only she would truly understand - not Banner, nor the listeners of any of Stark's nearby AV cameras. This time she understood. _Everything_. And this future, that he'd promised her, was a place where she would be free to be whatever the hell it was she had become. Maybe his influence was enough. Maybe it would just... overcome hers, in the way they raised them all. She _wanted_ to spread that indescribable perfection, his strength and beauty and brilliance, throughout the entire universe...  
  
"I _suppose_ that's what I did..." she replied, pensively. Then she shook her head, countering her own doubts. "I should allow myself do this. I can. And I _want_ to." She put a hand on her non-existent belly. Three half-jotuns... it was too much! How could she carry them all? Then finally she met his eyes, with a nervous smile.  
  
He took a step back from her, his hands slipping off of her shoulders. "Sara. You must be _certain_..."  
  
"Hm. 'Far be it for me to question the strength of Asgard's queen'," she mimicked, a crafty grin covering up all the fear and nervousness on her tear-streaked, reddened face.  
  
He stepped back even further and marveled at her whole body for a while - a mixture of concern, and disbelief, and an overwhelming happiness on his devilishly-handsome face. He blinked it away to speak. "I will help you," he asserted. "You know this. I... " He was visibly hit by a wave of emotion as he wrapped her up in a shamelessly-impassioned embrace. "...You've made me all the more happy. I _love_ you." He didn't say it often. But his smooth, melodic voice made it an amazing experience to hear, especially while pressed firmly to his chest. She hugged him back, somehow truly happy about all this freaking insanity. The rarest of things should be treasured.  
  
That night she slept surprisingly well. The bed was huge and soft, and Loki's perfection was always so wonderful and _comforting_ , now, to see. But that wouldn't normally have been enough to get her anxious, frenetic mind to quiet. No; that night it was as if her body was just plain done with her shit. It overthrew her brain in the name of sleep. For about two hours.  
  
She woke to the sound of her daughter's cries, something she loved enough to be able to snap quickly back into functionality to go and feed her. Another few hours later, it happened again. But Loki was right. She was easy to please every time. And despite being tired she enjoyed standing in that room, just watching her, contentedly. Love incarnate.  
  
When she woke to the cries again, it didn't seem like it had been two or three hours. She accredited that to exhaustion - parting once again, more slowly, from the bed. But as she listened, she found herself concerned, on a solely-instinctive level. And if there was anything she'd learned from all of this, it was 'respect your instincts'. This cry sounded just a little bit different. Sharper, and that was somehow more... alarming. She teleported into the room, to her daughter's side - her heart pounding - and immediately shut back down. She’d pushed herself too far. Her mind ran out of energy, and without it her body failed. She fell, but she didn't hit the floor. Someone had caught her. They'd moved impossibly fast... she hadn't even seen them...  
  
"Hey! Hey, wake up." She was able to open her eyes for a second before she involuntarily retreated into her own mind in search of energy. She couldn't see the guy whose voice she felt she should recognize. But strangely, it was increasing in familiarity as her consciousness decreased... "Do me a favor and don't die, alright? I don't need that on my conscience."  
  
Barton! It was he who'd captured her, for Loki to interrogate, years ago... Fuck! I've done it now, she thought. He hates us. Can't trust him... _No_...  
  
The energy that both she and Loki used seemed to come from the Earth itself. She'd noticed that the more life there was anywhere, and the closer she was to it, the easier it was to seek. It wasn't long before she'd absorbed enough of it to regain her basic consciousness. Barton had lowered her to the floor, but was still there, standing above her... bent slightly, over the cradle, his sleek black bow and an arrow now in-hand.

She summoned all her strength to get up quickly, but her body threatened to fail her again as soon as she sat up. So she worked frantically, yet quietly to stand, backing away from him as she did - despite that those frighteningly-strong arms had caught her twice before. And at that he lifted them, turned around with lightning speed and drew and aimed the arrow. His other hand, she realized, had been gently, comfortingly placed on her baby's tiny chest. He watched her very carefully from behind the deadly weapon, standing completely still, focused. But his words were oddly calm. "Sorry; I... heard her crying. I kind-of got into the habit of taking the night shift." She stayed frozen in place, afraid for the state she was in, and didn't respond. "Are you cool? Got that 'mama bear' look in your eye..."  
  
She took a deep breath. This one had a special vendetta for Loki. And since they'd arrived, he'd done nothing but stare at them mercilessly from the shadows. It didn't seem to bother Loki. In fact, he often grinned at him. But she knew why _that_ was... "You... helped them care for her?"  
  
He frowned. "Of course. Doesn't matter whose kid it is..."  
  
She stood up slowly - still almost void of energy, but certainly not of milk. Finally he lowered the bow, and she turned away from him, warily. She fed her daughter, stopping the waning cries and relieving that growing pressure. Surprisingly, he didn't leave. He stared at her just as before... as if she might lunge at him, unprovoked, at any moment, even with the baby somehow.  
  
He cast his gaze down slightly, and decided to say what he'd been thinking. "I know about you. I know you were under his control, just like I was. And... I'm sorry, but I've just got to ask you something:" He furrowed his brow and shook his head, incredulous. "How can you be with him, after all that? I mean, to the point where you have his child... his _children_ ," he corrected, glancing at her soon-to-be-ridiculously-huge belly. She narrowed her eyes at him. He felt the need to explain. "Banner told us. We try not to keep secrets from each other."  
  
She looked him over, studying him, unsure of how to reply or if she should. He was the kind of guy who was always, to some degree, intense-looking. Ready to fight. Kind of like her. But he pretended to look away often. Guarded, but he seemed to be genuinely curious about this. He really wanted to know.  
  
She spoke softly, in an attempt to seem benign. "At first I had no choice. And I was afraid of him. I fought him a lot... because I didn’t understand. But because of _her_..." she looked down and smiled. "He was forced to become a lesser monster, I suppose. To show me kindness and patience. Then -” She tilted her head. “very slowly - and unwittingly to us both I think, he began to take it further..." She closed her eyes for a second. "The trickster freaking tricked me into loving him."  
  
He looked to the side, frustrated... yet his face was still expressionless. "I killed twenty-six people while under his control. Everyone keeps saying I wasn't myself. That it wasn't 'me'." Then he squinted at her. "But it _was_ me. I _wanted_ to take them out, as many as I had to, as efficiently as possible, in the name of a... god, who somehow _deserved_ my loyalty, and -"  
  
"I know," she interrupted, cutting off his rapid descent into anger and despair. "I had only basic training, and _one job_ : keep the secrets. Discover the inner workings of those SHIELD considered inhuman, then keep that information _out of enemy hands_."  
  
"And then you _became_ the enemy," he stated solemnly, from under a lowered brow.  
  
She'd been calm. She'd been meek, and patient with these people... in order to keep a lid on the boiling, churning rage. But now she moved towards him, staring, her eyes searing. She knew exactly how she looked, from the reactions of the others, when she slipped. But Barton remained stoic. So she raised her voice a bit. "I'm the enemy of _the system!_ Of those who control others with ignorance, and fear of the unknown! The ashes _and_ the flame of power from which the needed change will rise! You - " She stopped herself. She'd said too much. And he knew it. He'd been observing her intently as she ranted... tightening his grip on his bow. She looked away quickly; completely. Seething. "Leave. Now."  
  
He looked at her curiously for a second. Then without a word, he turned and left.


	35. Ashes

Barton relayed the intel to Rogers at least - if not the rest of them - right away. She knew this because by their next little gathering, they were already talking about them both.  
  
"They're not done," Barton was insisting, to someone who'd probably challenged his suspicions. "They're planning something, right here under our noses. And based on how unstable she is - how unstable _he knows_ she is - they're gonna make their move soon."  
  
"I believe she has truly changed him." Thor's opinion was strong and unwavering - and likely the most valued when it came to his genocidal brother. "Tell me: were someone to harm the one you love, while in her most vulnerable state... would you not do everything in your power to make them regret that they did?"  
  
There was a long pause. Then Stark chimed in. "I would. And, I think I understand Caligula a little better now. We just needed a little quality time together. He's gonna play the vengeful god when it comes to feeling attacked, every time. Creepy Carrie will too, if she can. Don't have to be a genius to see _that_." He took a drink of something. "But, when it comes down to it, they both just wanted the kid back. And now -" He scoffed in amazement. " - that's _actually_ happened. It's over. They're all going back to Asgard, where they'll be just another vague, inactive potential threat floating around out there in space for us to keep an eye on. For SHIELD to keep an eye on. From _the other end_ of the rainbow."  
  
Her eyes widened. SHIELD. A subject which has to be sensitive to them, and wouldn't be brought up unless for a very good reason. Not even by Stark. He'd specified the 'other end'... as opposed to what? SHIELD will never gain entry to Asgard... Oh god. They were considering _keeping_ them there! Turning them in to SHIELD! Instantly she re-prioritized everything. She needed to go find Loki. But Rogers sounded agitated, and that made her pause mid-creep.  
  
"How can you - " He scoffed, frustrated. "He attacked Earth, _again!_ " he asserted. " _She_ destroyed a SHIELD facility so she could free some of the most dangerous people in the world - "  
  
"But look what she _did_ with them." Romanov countered. "I've seen all those files. Only the worst of them 'mysteriously' met their end in that fight. She's got to have skills when it comes to finding the bad _and_ the good in people... the ones that still have it in them. Even a monster like Loki."  
  
"Or maybe she's a monster herself." That one came from Banner. Of all people! "Can't see the forest through the trees," he added softly.  
  
She held her breath as they all sat in silence after that perfunctory statement. Then she left. She had all she needed to know to determine how long they could stay here, who to try to talk to... and who to watch.  
  
She told Loki, who didn't seem concerned at all of course. So she haunted the tower for days... quietly. Afraid of the hate she might reveal. She avoided anything that carried even a _possibility_ of confrontation - afraid of the blood she might spill. As her ability strengthened she used it as much as she safely could, staying sharp, ready for anything their suspicions might prompt them to do. She traveled further, more precisely and in rapid-succession, returning each time to a different part of the tower, until it was all familiar.  
  
Like a true criminal, she returned to the scenes of her crimes. Seeing with her own eyes again the leveled state that every SHIELD facility she'd hit was still in was gratifying. Somehow, it sated her increasing need to take action. It was after one of these visits that she returned to the tower smiling - and scared the ever-living shit out of Tony Stark.  
  
"Holy - " She'd appeared without warning, right in front of the big panel of monitors in his workshop. She _really_ hadn't expected him to be there at five a.m. He was all suited up and on some sort of platform... no doubt testing some new feature. He clutched his chest dramatically - a very amusing sight as performed by the famously-formidable suit. He flipped open the face mask to reveal a shocked expression, and let out a quick breath. "I see you've got your power back."  
  
She stood up slowly from her crouched position and regarded him with caution nonetheless. Despite his humor and... loudness, Stark was kind-of hard to figure out. All that strong, offensive personality was in layers, like an onion, and you just... never really knew, when you'd reached the center. The real him.  
  
"Hey..." he began casually, slowly stepping down off of the platform, towards her. "So I heard about Cap. I'd like to apologize on his behalf. He's got - " He waved his hand in the air dismissively. "- some... issue with you." He spit it out carelessly and moved on with coffee-fueled speed. "Anyway just know that we don't all feel that way, alright? Innocent until proven guilty." He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Arguably the biggest point of contention that a lot of us here have with good old SHIELD."  
  
He'd brought them up, adding them seamlessly to his little monologue, at great risk - just to get her to talk to him. She fought back a smile. Maybe he wasn't so hard to decode. "Good."  
  
He moved a little closer, motioning briefly towards her with one hand. "I... just... _love_ your new look, by the way. That whole white after labor day thing, _definitely_ does not apply to you. I think it's the hair..." He looked her up and down, looked away and raised his eyebrows. "Of course, someone like you looks good in a potato sack." He nodded to himself. "Or a toasted tunic."  
  
He wasn't just making small talk. He was testing her. Pushing buttons, seeing at what point she'd lose her cool. Believing he was invulnerable in that suit... "Flattery will get you nowhere."  
  
He disregarded that entirely. "You wore that before, right? Fresh out of Asgard." He straightened his posture, smiled with his eyes and pointed at her. "You _went_ there, didn't you?"  
  
She followed him with her eyes as he inched closer. "I don't like to be without armor."  
  
He nodded. "Understandable. You've got enemies. People think that you're... some kind of demon now. Heartless. Inhuman." He stopped to study her reactions to each of those words. Then he shook his finger in the air. "See, I don't think that though. You do put off a creepy... evil... 'white witch' kind of vibe. But _I_ think, that it's aaalll a big defense." He spread out his hands to convey its enormity. "At some point in your... travels - through the seven layers of hell that is - in order to keep your wits you had to become someone else. Someone stronger; scarier. I've seen all the files. I know who you were, _before_ all this. And deep down inside, under all that fancy armor is the sweet little snow bunny that you always were." He smiled. "You my dear, are _good_."  
  
She lifted her chin and allowed a cheeky smirk. "I'm glad you think that."  
  
Now quite close, he looked around and leaned in, as if trying to conceal his words from his own closed-circuit cameras. Her eyes never left him. "So what's it like, being... yknow... everywhere, whenever? Do you experience anything in between? How do you do it?"  
  
Her smirk began to fade. Really shouldn't be talking to these people at all, she reminded herself. Some of them were more intelligent than her and also concealed it well. But the man was just so damned entertaining... "I don't know. It all comes naturally to me. Hence the unusual amount of control, I suppose." He could never know about the Tesseract.  
  
"You know I always wonder - when I look at the 'gifteds' en masse - if the type of power they have isn't, perhaps, decided based on their own personal trauma. You know, like a scary or stressful event in their life can affect all that." He smiled and shifted his weight a little - preparing to flee the scene for the impending comment. "Do you feel like that's what happened to you? Cause... well, I can't think of anything _else_ that would've helped you escape the stabbing."  
  
She scanned him more obviously this time, letting him know she saw his fear. "What do you want from me, Stark?"  
  
He held his hands up innocently. "Nothing; not a thing. Except..." he let his words trail off. She hated this fucking game.  
  
"I know what you're doing," she clarified sternly. "Stop. I don't bite..." She rolled her eyes thoughtfully. "...anymore. Speak."  
  
His lowered his hands as he glanced around the shop at nothing in particular, eyes wide. "Alright." Abruptly he looked right into hers. "Take me with you."  
  
That was not what she'd expected. "Teleport you." She scoffed. "Why?"  
  
He furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "Scientific curiosity. You _can_ , right? I mean-"  
  
"Of course..." she interrupted, her patience wearing thin. But the question brought up a good point. What better way to prove she was stronger than they thought - without actually hurting anyone and ironically, so they wouldn't _tempt her to_ \- than to teleport Iron Man. She knew he would tell them all about it. She dipped her head. "Alright."  
  
Despite the bravado, he flinched a little when she raised her hand... just to hold up a finger. "But only because I feel like I owe you something." She added a little ego boost to calm him down. "Also... I think you can handle it. There are few individuals braver than the ones who live with monsters." Double-entendre. "So... where to?" She wouldn't speak of the energy factor, either.  
  
He thought about it. But not for very long. "I don't know. Surprise me.”  
  
Making no attempt to hide the deviousness in her grin - or her voice - she tilted her head at him. "Certainly." She looked down, preparing to do just that. "Kneel and give me your hand."  
  
All of a sudden he stepped back and held out his hand - where the suit's main weapon was. But he only used it to point a finger. "Now where have I heard that before. I don't think so Snowbunny. Not even for you." She narrowed her eyes at him. Poor choice of words.  
  
She sighed, but couldn't come up with a good protest for the nickname. "It's so you don't lose your balance on arrival." She took a knee beside him first and held out her hand. "- and fall. Like, off a cliff... into an impact crater..." She shrugged. "Even in a familiar place you can never really _know_ what you might find."  
  
He stared for a minute, relaxed a little and did as she said, flipping down his face mask. "Wait - " he said through the helmet. "How do you know you won't teleport me out of the suit? I'm kind of in my skivvies here."  
  
The man asked too many questions. She pressed her lips together, irritated. Then she tapped her head. "It's all in the mind. It won't happen because I don't _want_ it to." She smiled to put him at ease. And shut him up. "No offense."  
  
The suit remained still, the helmet's blank expression inconclusive. "None taken."  
  
She made a point not to close her eyes, or appear as if she were concentrating at all. But she did have a bit of a grin. He'd said he wanted a surprise.  
  
They appeared in the middle of a golden-sanded desert, the glare of the sun almost obscuring from them what little there was to see. Dusty rocks. Sagebrush. Distant mountains and the variegated foothills below. Afghanistan. As close as she could remember from SHIELD’s files to the cave where he'd been held hostage. The man stood very still, moving only to look around and decisively let go of her wicked little hand. When he flipped up the mask again, she reveled in his expression. Positively bug-eyed. He let out the breath he'd been holding and raised an eyebrow, falsely nonchalant. "Not what I had in mind."  
  
He looked down at his hands as if he might somehow be damaged. "JARVIS complete structural and molecular diagnostic please." She couldn't hear the response. But he began to walk around.  
  
"Don't go far. I won't hesitate to leave you here," she warned.  
  
He nodded solemnly. "Can we go back then?"  
  
This was fun. "Sure. Or... we could go somewhere else."  
  
Both eyebrows shot up. But he played it off. "Sure, why not. How often does one get to see the world sans several hours in a jet."  
  
She allowed the malicious grin she'd been keeping under wraps to completely surface. She liked his reactions. She tilted her head. "Let's play a game."  
  
Stark frowned, but quickly shook off whatever distracting emotion he'd had. He gestured with a limp-wristed point. "Okay, first of all: please don't say that. Second: this location... not funny. Third: well that depends. Would this game be hosted by White Witch or Snowbunny?"  
  
Still smiling, she paced around him, making him uncomfortable. "Does it matter?" He eyed her as she passed but didn't contest the rhetorical question. "I'll put us somewhere, and we'll see if you can guess where we are... without the visor, that is. I'm sure you have a GPS in that thing. But If I'm not mistaken, you have to ask JARVIS to tell you in order for you to cheat." She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not like I can do anything to you in that suit of yours, anyway. You might as well be Asgardian."  
  
He nodded briefly. "Good point." He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her slightly. "I'm game. Let's do this." She stopped and grabbed for his hand, but he pulled it away. "Waitwaitwait... " He pointed at her. "Earth only."  
  
She dipped her head in acknowledgement, while grinning quite maniacally.  
  
Tony Stark was even more well-traveled than she'd thought. Still, it was fun to try and stump him. He was absurdly competitive, convincing her to try again and again. She pretty much lost track of how many places they went. But she was very carefully paying attention to the energy she had left.

He reminded her quite a bit of Ben. A challenging set of emotions to add to the experience. But just as Loki had taught her, she resisted the urge to shove those memories and all of their tumultuous emotions away. She analyzed them. She... _missed_ him; the fake Ben. She wondered if he'd modeled his fake personality after Stark's; they were so similar. But she felt nothing for the real Ben, whose life she had taken in anger.  
  
Stark gave up just before she would have due to exhaustion - claiming that there were other tasks he should be getting back to in the shop. And she was very hungry. They appeared near the fridge, which he didn't seem to mind. He reasserted indifferently that she was welcome to anything she could find - then ambled off towards his bedroom. A dangerous proclamation to make to someone pregnant with freaking triplets... She laughed quietly to herself in the dark about it all.  
  
Once she'd had her fill of Stark's food she started back across the main lounge to their rooms. She was almost halfway through it when she felt a large hand clamp down onto her shoulder. Her first instinct was to whip around against the fingers and strike its owner before they could defend. But they seemed to be aware of this, and with one arm they held her still. So instead she bent backwards, putting her at an angle where her assailant would have to adjust his grip on her to keep it. When the fingers weakened she fell out of it, and into a swift back handspring, giving her the opportunity to kick the tall, muscular man in the face - but he dodged that with little effort. She twisted mid-air instead to land so she could face him. The whole time her logical side was fighting her; the much weaker remains of her humanity. But the rest was pure adrenaline. That wild animal that Hydra had created, freed from its cage by the slightest unsolicited touch.  
  
It wore off just enough for her mind to burst back through, stopping her from trying again. But about a second after she'd returned to a completely upright position she found herself _painfully_ nauseated. Her stomach began to hurt, bad. Without further warning she threw up - most of that food - in one long, horrible heave... involuntarily to say the least.  
  
She couldn't help but double over in the process, gasping, and shaky too. She recovered with expert speed and righted herself, hands out, prepared for some semblance of defense. But the man was oddly still. A quick overall search for the reason for this made her realize that he'd failed to dodge the sudden projectile vomit. Predicted her first reaction, ducked around a back handspring, but could not avoid... that. Justified or not, she felt embarrassed... it wasn't a weapon she was accustomed to using; not even when she was sick. No, this was a special kind of sick. Pregnancy sick.

She wiped her mouth off a bit as she backed away from him, now more focused on discerning through the dark just who or what - more precisely - she'd assaulted. The long wavy locks dangling over his face, as he looked down at himself, gave it away. Of course it was freaking Thor.  
  
She took a deep breath and looked him over as best she could using the only light there was - dim and yellow, coming from the glowing city on the other side of the huge glass wall behind her. His plain-clothed chest and some of his arm was now decorated with everything she'd just eaten. Ice cream. Tofu. And a huge can of those fancy mixed nuts, in its entirety, which now resembled chunky peanut butter. Very sticky. Not much had made it to the floor.  
  
When he lifted his head again his brow was furrowed, but his eyes showed no sort of anger. He looked right at her. "That is disgusting!" he stated loudly, as if this fact surprised him.  
  
She looked away. But she couldn't undo what she just did. Horrified, she tried to speak, but couldn't. The huge oss had always scared the crap out of her, even before she'd resisted arrest by him in Asgard... or attacked the people he'd tried to accomplish that for. She thought for a second, then realized how to make it clear that she was done... with all of that. She took a knee - much like when she teleported. Warily, he stepped back, expecting her to disappear. But this time she put her fist to her chest, and lowered her head before him. She still couldn't summon her voice, but she mouthed the word "Sorry..."  
  
Unable to see him, she flinched when he touched her shoulder again. "Rise, little draugr... at your will." He spoke kindly and offered her his hand. "It is I who would apologize to you. It was never my intention to frighten an expecting mortal, queen or not."  
  
She did as he suggested - without his help - and forced herself to make eye contact. It was the least she could do. Fortunately he'd been wearing a nice thick overcoat - which he was in the process of removing using as few of his fingers as possible. Calmly, he bent to set it on the floor. "May I have a word?"  
  
She cleared her throat. "Yes... of course. Please." She motioned for them to sit on one of the dimly-lit sofas, but she really just wanted to sit down herself. She felt better, but definitely not too good.  
  
He sat in a large overstuffed chair across from her, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. It put him at eye level - something he was probably used to doing with the smaller mortals, she mused. She stared. "This concerns Loki. Long have I waited for an opportunity to speak with you alone. But if you are not comfortable doing so I bid you simply state this, and I will leave." He was so nice. Like before, when they'd first met. He acted as if nothing had changed...  
  
"No, it's alright," she assured him.  
  
He looked down at his hands. "As you know, the throne of Asgard is now in a state of uncertainty. For his actions against this realm, I would take it back from Loki. He is unstable. He will not wield Gungnir again until this is decided." He nodded sideways. "Neither will I. My hope is that _you_ have changed him. The the kind of affection you have for each other is rare, and sacred, indeed."  
  
She frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
He smiled at her, in wonder. "You truly do not see this, do you? There are few things more powerful to... one, such as Loki, than the unconditional love of a mortal. Especially when, as with all the others, he has used her so carelessly in the past."  
  
He let her absorb that for a minute while she stared into space, leaning onto the arm of the couch and curling up there to soothe her churning stomach. But he furrowed his brow again, concerned, the action having reminded him of his purpose. "It is vital that you understand... Whether or not he is king, Loki will always be stubborn..." He looked away, reminiscing. "Ruthless. He is determined not to allow his heart to be blackened any further by loss. His current position demands of him self-control. It is part of the reason I allowed it. He is also a _very_ wise king. But if he is dethroned, there will be nothing to stop him from destroying entire civilizations, if need be, in the name of what holds the most control over _him_." She pressed her lips together, her nervousness causing her to overanalyze his behavior and words - she knew it, and she tried instead to see his point. The big picture. But he clarified it for her first, smiling slightly and dipping his head so as not to appear condescending. "That is you. The mother of his four children, whom he loves... now more than ever, it is you."  
  
She couldn't have hidden her shock from him if she'd tried. It all made perfect sense. She'd always known Loki had loved... the power he had over her... not necessarily her for her whole self. Time after time he'd dominated her using fear, manipulation, deceit... whatever he had to, despite that so many others had hurt her trying to do the same. He'd watched it develop - an unlikely yet deep, devoted love. So had she. But to him it was an instability; a weakness. Unpredictable. One he could not change or stop. So he cultivated _control_ instead. To gain control of all that has power over you is to _gain control of yourself_.  
  
"For the sake of the realms, stay safe," Thor added, seeing that she finally understood. He knew that the statement alone would be taken with a grain of salt, just like when any other well-wisher found out that she was pregnant. Again. But Thor was skilled in things like communication; diplomacy. He smiled, and changed the subject. "Speaking of Loki's many children... does his first-born have a name?" When she looked at him curiously he shrugged a little, almost laughing. "My friends, though bravest of warriors, have all been afraid to ask."  
  
She smiled and nodded. "Isleif."  
  
He furrowed his brow. "Isleif. Child... of ice?"  
  
Her smile became a grin. "Loki likes it. And I think it's beautiful."  
  
Cautiously, he leaned over far, to touch her folded knee. "As is she." With his demeanor alone, he'd managed to put her at ease.  
  
She returned to their rooms in a daze. Thor's words were a lot to comprehend. Her baby - sleeping soundly in her crib - was the first thing she saw of course. On the way to her though, she peered into the other room. There was a lump of blanket shaped suspiciously like Loki - sleeping soundly in the bed. She smiled. Then without warning she was grabbed by the neck and pushed backwards, away from their child. She screamed soundlessly and wrenched on the arm with both hands. But she was too weak, and far too late. They'd moved impossibly fast and before she knew it her back was slammed into the far wall, making it even harder to breathe. She tried to teleport away.  
  
Loki's nefarious expression shed all the shadows behind him, as he put his face closer to hers. "What a delight..." he purred. "At long last, the queen has decided to grace us with her presence."  
  
Gasping, she kept trying to pull his arm away, only to feel her wrists being collected into one huge hand. He released her neck then and pinned them above her head, with some difficulty... He didn't want to hurt her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this. All he wanted was complete control of what he had suddenly perceived as a threat. But the killer she'd become would not accept that now. It had already _taken_ that control... the second she'd heard his taunting, angry voice.  
  
He watched as she squirmed and resisted every inch of the movements he forced on her, to no avail. Looking up at her hands she noticed that he allowed little shifts in position - as long as they didn't threaten to break his hold - so as not to cause her injury. Something she could take advantage of. But then he pressed his hand onto her chest. He looked down at it for a while, feeling her racing heart. His voice took on a distinctly menacing tone. "Your body betrays you, pet. Such _fear_..."

He calmed himself and spoke casually, as if she weren't in the position that she was. "I asked after you, upon learning of your wanderings. The artificial human claims that you left with Tony Stark. And then..." He turned his head to the side and gritted his teeth for a moment. "Lo and behold... you and Thor Odinson, meeting alone in the darkness. You were knelt down before him... Now what, pray tell, is _another_ meaning of this?"  
  
This wasn't lovers' jealousy. He still thought she would stab him in the back. Distrustful, just like her. But her anger and fear rendered her unable to even _think._ Not like this. "Release me," she hissed, and paused to stare him down.  
  
He stared right back... and his was much more intimidating. Slowly, he shook his head. "Oh, no, pet. You see, I place _on you_ the burden of proof this time... being that you see fit to repeatedly test my patience." Her thin wrists meant she could escape a lot of handcuffs, and through her twisting and writhing, she had one almost ready to pull right through his fingers. At some point, though, he'd felt it. He lifted them up, and angrily slammed them back into place on the wall. "Convince me of your fidelity," he growled, "and I will set you free."  
  
She stopped fighting him altogether, struggling to gain composure. She looked him in the eyes. Then, gradually, she began to laugh. Ridiculous. His suspicions were so deep-rooted that he wouldn't believe her, no matter what she said. As her giggles settled, though, she let her head fall to her chest. His hand was there, and the sight of its hold on her, despite it all, fueled her rage. She lifted her face to him. "I can't."  
  
He narrowed his eyes and pushed away from her a little, taken aback by the response. He'd expected her to admit guilt. Beg for forgiveness. "Well then. It seems we've reached an impasse." Or weave a rich tapestry of lies in some defense. "But you forget, precious girl, that my offer is made only out of kindness. In truth... there is no need."  
  
She gasped when she realized what he meant. Then she eyed him viciously. "Don't. You. Dare..." He could control her completely if he wanted to. She'd all but forgotten that fact. And now there was nothing to stop him...  
  
He furrowed his brow and grinned. Then he tightened his grip on her wrists and peeled his free hand off her chest. He was really going to do it. "No!" she screamed, between frenetic breaths. All he had to do was take over her mind and he could force her to do as he pleased. Carry his children in her womb unharmed, while the rest of her was his slave... "No, don't! Loki!" She pulled so hard against him that it hurt. "Please!"  
  
He ignored her pleas and placed his hand on her head slowly, cruelly, his eyes full of rage and power. Terrified, she let out a shrill scream, and turned her head away. She closed her eyes in an attempt to resist his influence. She tried to close off her whole mind, but it was too late for that... she could feel it. So she shamelessly begged for her freedom. "Please! I... You know that I love you! Why would I betray you now? Don't do this... no... you _can't_..." she ran out of breath from the panic. He focused intently on her eyes before she could close them again. And as he invaded what was left of her fragile sanity, she screamed some more and thrashed about in his unrelenting grip. All the way up until he made her stop.  
  
She couldn't scream anymore. Or beg. Or cry. He released her arms and they fell. She could move them a little. Not much. It was like they were being weighed down - more than the rest of her that is. All she could really do was watch as he dug through her head, so fast it was nearly imperceptible. His consciousness centered on Stark and Thor - what she knew of them, how she viewed them now and before, and even what she thought when he'd mentioned them a minute ago. Thoroughly, he sifted through it all, and then, suddenly... he found himself convinced that she was right.

She jumped anyway, when she felt his hand slide between the wall and her back. He pulled on the silky string responsible for holding her armor together. She squeaked involuntarily when it moved to the front and under it, to caress her soon-to-be belly. Too many memories there, to much pain and fear. Surely he could sense it all building... she felt like she might explode! But he didn't stop what he was doing. After a minute, very quietly, he let out a little breath. The feedback from his mind allowed her to perceive them too... the babies. Three... lives, she supposed, within her, each with its own tiny spark of unique energy.  
  
He was looking down pensively when she opened her eyes again, reeling from the sudden shift in emotions. 'Seeing' them all had brought him such pride and happiness that it spilled over into her, where otherwise he might have concealed it. Gently, he removed both hands, careful not to let her fall away from the wall too fast after pinning her there for so long.  
  
He nodded curtly as he stepped away. "Verily you speak the truth. However..." He put his hands behind his back, turned his head to one side and looked at her curiously. "You have such a deep fear of me, even now, after all I have done to help you. You fear that I would take from you your will; your freedom. On little more than a whim..."  
  
She teleported over to Isleif, which made her feel much better. He turned, slowly, knowing immediately where she'd gone. But when her eyes met his he looked down. She glared anyway, from the other side of the crib. "Shouldn't I?" she demanded, rubbing her wrists a bit.  
  
Abruptly his head whipped back up and he said, sincerely, "Never." She narrowed her eyes at him, then gingerly leaned in, lifting her daughter to feed her. He began to saunter in that direction. "There are many things you can give me which I desire. And not one of them is your mind. If it were, I'd have taken it..." He scoffed slightly. "...a very long time ago."  
  
She looked up briefly, angrily, then calmly back down at her daughter. She trusted him. Well, the logical side of her did. But he approached her with excessive caution. She heard his steps become light. He knew she was dangerous on her own, nevermind the fact that she'd somehow managed to possess his cold, dark heart. It was also why he'd bothered to take her by surprise. He stopped right next to her, reached over, and lightly stroked the little black wisps of hair on the suckling child's head. "You will give me heirs. And I will give you power, and vengeance. I see now all that you are..." Gently - but insistently - he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. "And I assure you that there will never be a need to pry it from your mind again." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the most intriguing grin take over his otherwise-sincere face. Mischievous. Victorious. When her curiosity got the best of her and she shifted her eyes his way, he dipped his head as well. "You are mine."  
  
Defiantly, she lifted her chin. Then, her expression softened. Well, he's not wrong, she thought. For all intents and purposes, he is right. But the thing is... with him... _I'm_ _unstoppable_.


	36. Rise

It seemed that, for the rest of their stay, Stark was going to insist on talking to her. Like she was the most fascinating person he knew. Like she'd never thoroughly enjoyed a bout of blowing up SHIELD facilities.    
  
He tested her patience on purpose, of course. She knew it. But, it didn't really matter. He gave her half the hard time that he did Rogers, or even Banner. And the less inimical she appeared, the less inclined the self-proclaimed heroes were to make a move. Loki did reveal to her the details of his plan. But there wasn't much to reveal. It was opportunistic. Shifty. Volatile. Just like him. It was what made him so unpredictable... and what made the plan so chaotically, absurdly brilliant.  
  
For numerous reasons - all based on prudence - she made a habit of avoiding Romanov and Rogers. But for some reason Barton didn't seem quite as edgy around her. Or maybe he was just always on-edge.

Either way, she liked to hear him speak... from a good, safe distance away. She felt strong and confident in her ability once again. But she also felt like he'd betrayed her. Provoked her, to draw out psychological intel. She couldn't exactly blame him. But he wouldn't be doing it again.  
  
The man was positively bursting with fascinating facts, and stories of expertise. They occurred randomly - with a chance of it happening anytime there were two or more conscious bodies in the vicinity. Loki didn't count. Neither did she. So at first, she did a lot of lurking. Standing undetected at the end of the hallway. Or quietly in the corner of the adjacent bar. Surprisingly, they seemed to understand the appeal that the dark, ruthless personality she'd shown the world actually had to the people who followed her... whether or not they agreed. They knew _the reason_ for the message she'd carved out across the planet just for SHIELD. They thought she was 'traumatized', by it all. A truly laughable concept. Trauma was for the weak.  
  
Still a rare sight, they always kept a close eye on 4372. No matter where in the surveillance-packed tower she was. Once she realized this though, she started to let them _see_ her listening in, more and more often. Even while holding, changing or feeding Isleif. Sometimes she'd take a seat - on the outermost edge of the circle the group created. It depended on who was there. And inevitably this would also draw in a very suspicious, very _protective_ God of Lies.

It was one of those times - a moment in which she was able to temporarily bury the more rageful thoughts and socialize - that Loki decided to join her. The whole group was there - balancing out the positive and negative opinions she knew they had, but hid. He brought her little jotunlet out into the huge main room with him and sat down gracefully, close to her mother - who seemed to be the antidote for any otherwise-inexplicable agitation. She didn't pay much attention though. She was devouring the contents of Stark's fridge - again - and enjoying part three of Barton's PBS special "The Superiority of a Good Compound Bow Versus Any One of Stark's Specially-Designed Weapons".  
  
After a while, in her peripheral vision, she noticed Loki leaning forward just a bit - a single raised eyebrow the only indication of his sudden change of interest. He followed her actual gaze. For the past several minutes she'd been in the midst of a mental deadlock with none other than Steve Rogers. They'd been just staring at each other, across a room full of people, like a couple of feral cats. Each knew what the other was doing. Trying to figure them out. Find weaknesses. Just in case. But other than an uncanny ability to read people, they were pretty much polar opposites in every conceivable way.  
  
Stark re-entered stage left with a drink and raised his finger to counter a point Barton's story had not-so-subtly made. But just then JARVIS politely interrupted them. "Pardon me, Mister Stark. Director Coulson is calling."

Stark's eyes went immediately to Loki, then to her, while his finger curled up in defeat. He looked around at all the other frozen bodies in the room. With an expression of over-dramatic alarm, he attempted to disperse the tension. "Shhh..." he said loudly, spreading his arms with pointed fingers. "Nobody make a sound. We're _not here_. Eventually he'll get bored and go away."  
  
There was a long, uncomfortable silence while JARVIS presumably negotiated with the multi-skilled man outside. "Sir I'm afraid he's quite insistent upon being granted access to the building," it stated dryly. "He _also_ wishes to know why it has thus far been denied, along with his other attempts to reach you."  
  
Stark dropped his arms, exasperated. He looked to her again. "New security measures. No more unexpected drop-ins from anyone. Especially not Big Brother." Then his personal cell phone rang. The one he claimed only three people had the number for. He pulled it from his pocket and turned it off.  
  
She didn't like that; not at all. Stark had assured her they were safe. That they couldn't see the tracker - or much of anything - through all the interference his building created. The longer they'd stayed, the more she had believed him. But Loki was right. Someone had turned them in! She fought off the quaking anger, keeping it inside as best she could. But she wouldn't be able to for long. Loki knew it well. Quietly yet firmly, he told her, "Stay with me."  
  
She jumped when she heard Coulson's voice, coming loudly through the P.A. system she'd not been aware of until now. "I thought we had an agreement, Stark," he started with fake surprise and disappointment. "I have to say, I _really_ don't like this latest hobby of yours. Don't get me wrong; I know you mean well. But the fact is, you're _harboring international fugitives_. Those types aren't known for showing gratitude." When there was no response to that, he sighed. "Since I'm a nice guy, I'll give you - oh, let's say - two minutes, to put me in contact with... well, either one of them, really. After that, I'm going to _have_ to break down the door." The sound cut out with an abruptly-silenced buzz.  
  
Stark paced, and frowned. "JARVIS, does... he mean that literally?"  
  
"It would appear so, Sir. Director Coulson is accompanied by several other agents and advanced weaponry which appears to be property of the United States military."  
  
She gasped, and whispered - as if that were going to keep SHIELD from locating them. "Loki, I can't..." She closed her eyes. "I can't really _control_ it  - "  
  
"I know," he interrupted smoothly. He was scanning the room with a slight, mischievous grin on his lips.  
  
Stark's tone remained nonchalant as he set the drink down and summoned a holographic monitor from the table. "How long now till Coulson breaks out the battering ram?"  
  
"One minute and thirteen seconds Sir. Shall I initiate the Armadillo protocol?"  
  
He nodded. "Absolutely." He was refusing to make eye contact with her now...  
  
Immediately there was a series of metallic clicks and whirs, and some sort of thick, flexible armor fell down over each and every door and window of the building - maybe more than that. She couldn't make out any edges to it before that room was sealed, blocking out all remaining rays of light from the sun. More interior lights came on to compensate, revealing that it was composed of sleek, perfectly-fitted sections of some sort of metal. A formidable-looking defense. Stark could not be blamed for coming up with one though, after all he had battled at home... Perhaps he _wasn't_ aware of any plot to turn them in...  
  
He held his head up and nodded proudly at nothing in particular. "There. That oughta do it." He turned to look at her, his arms open in a supplicating gesture. "Some people just _can't take a hint_." Her expression probably revealed some pretty fierce emotions to him - before she could get them under control - because he froze and stared for a moment, analyzing. Then the baby began to fuss, and he turned away a bit awkwardly to check on the system's various functions.  
  
Loki's voice was deep and soothing to them both. " _Be calm_ , pet. None will set foot near you now. Not even the infamous Phil of Many Lives." Only his eyes followed Stark's obsessive movements as he leaned in to whisper almost silently, "Are you ready?"  
  
She closed her eyes, and nodded. She'd _been_ ready.  
  
Suddenly there was a loud, reverberating crash. The baby's fussing broke into sharp, frightened cries, and Stark's eyebrows shot up. "Umm..." Several of his cameras showed that they'd officially broken into the building. "JARVIS how many are there?"  
  
"Thirty-seven, Sir."  
  
Noticeably more agitated, he made quick strides to the far edge of the room. He stopped there, and dipped his head. "Challenge accepted." Within seconds all the pieces of his suit were coming to him from somewhere down the hall and seamlessly assembling themselves. The others considered that their cue to prepare as well, for whatever type of confrontation was to come. Thor's expression was one of uncertainty, as he lifted Mjolnir from the table in the center of the room. Rogers disappeared, then jogged back into the room with his shield, but still no uniform. His brow was furrowed and his lips were parted but he closed them and stood still, as if at any movement he allowed would force him to express his outrage at the blatant invasion of Stark's property and privacy. It didn't seem to matter to him what reason SHIELD had for it.  
  
As the last piece affixed itself, Stark stalked towards the large, reinforced door. But he didn't get far. All at once, every light in the room went out with a series of pops and clicks. The humming of all his appliances and gadgets, usually not noticeable, changed tones in various degrees as everything powered down. He flipped up the face mask and looked around, shocked. "JARVIS?" No response.  
  
They were close. She could feel it. The last images she'd seen certainly looked like the small army had almost made it to their floor. As if to confirm that, there was a series of loud, mechanical thumps outside of and _on_ that door. A minute later a spot on its armor, about two thirds of the way up, began to glow bright red. Stark stopped dead in his tracks to reassess the situation.  
  
It took only seconds for the metal to melt away, revealing a hissing blue flame of some sort. It was cutting through whatever super-substance Stark had come up with for use in his own personal defense system, leaving nothing but glowing, molten metal lines in its wake. Far too quickly, it burned a roughly-circular, Coulson-sized hole - through which the man then stepped. He was wearing extra kevlar, she immediately noticed, and toting his Asgardian Destroyer-inspired weapon.  
  
Flanked by several agents as they entered swiftly one-by-one, he nodded sideways to accentuate his irritated, reticent grin, and greeted them almost cheerfully. "Hi."  
  
Thor was the first to step forward, angrily, weapon-in-hand. "What is the meaning of this, Son of Coul?"  
  
Before he could answer, Stark stepped up. "You wanna tell me how you managed to shut off all my power?" Coulson smiled smugly, and Stark actually raised a weapon-laden hand to him! " _My_ power, that is. Not yours. We're off the grid for a reason."  
  
"Oh yeah. We were going to tell you, but we decided to wait until the time was _just_ right." Coulson's weapon was aimed at Loki, not her. And it never wavered from there, not even slightly, as he continued to boast. "We have this really cool thing now. Recently developed, under top-secret conditions of course. It's kind of like an EMP, but designed specifically for that new power source of yours. Shuts it aaalll down."

After a moment of silence he looked around defensively, particularly at Banner and Rogers. "What? Don't tell me you expected us to just let you mess around with all this high-tech stuff, _unmonitored_ , without having some kind of countermeasure for it. You know. Just in case you slipped up and things got a little hairy."  
  
As if it were only to defy him, the lights turned back on, and about half the devices in the room whirred back to life. Coulson shrugged. "Well it's... only a prototype."  
  
As Coulson, Thor, Rogers and especially Banner began to argue all about rights and procedure on the far side of the room, she noticed Thor turning his attention away from them - often. Keeping an eye on them both.  
  
Only six agents had entered the room with Coulson. That meant the rest were scattered. Manning vehicles. Securing rooms. Disabling communications... keeping the nature of this attack well out of public knowledge. It wasn't until Loki began to look her over more carefully, concerned, that she realized she was quivering. Studying the residual hatred in her eyes, he smiled. "I know your mind still tests you. You have seen..." He shook his head slightly. " ...far too much. But I believe for that there's been a purpose. Our hopelessly-intertwined fates have brought you such darkness, so that you might _become the light_." His smile was reassuring, disarming... but distinctly nefarious as well.  
  
He gazed down at Isleif and continued to speak as if entirely unaffected by current events. "You've nothing to fear, really. You are stronger than you know. Strong enough to bear my children... and my rage." The sudden candor caught her off-guard and she stared for a moment, uncertain."You've more than enough ability to protect them now, with this newfound ferocity of yours."  
  
Suddenly he looked up - and his eyes were absolutely captivating. Full of joy and gratitude... and a spark of fiendish excitement. She loved it. She found it hard to look away. Noticing this, he lowered his head and his voice, almost touching her forehead, those eyes boring into hers. Urgently, yet almost silently, he whispered, " _Release your rage_ , pet. I must ask you now to fiercely protect _us all_."  
  
Her eyes widened at that request. But she nodded, still shaking. It was certainly no sign of hesitation. Quite the opposite. Self-control. He lowered his head again, whispering reassuring things to her baby in that heavenly voice of his to soothe away her distress.  
  
Her eyes darted from one Avenger to the other, completely avoiding Coulson's. Loki had waited for her strength, then waited even longer - not for safety, but for the sake of his vengeful theatrics. SHIELD, his brother and all of the Avengers... he was going to drag them _all_ into combat at once. Against each other as well. Assessing each one as an enemy now, she realized something else: Barring an appearance from the Hulk, Thor was the biggest threat there - or rather, he was the biggest threat to _Loki_...  
  
Thankfully they were quite busy arguing with each other. Thor's voice was growing louder with his conviction. "I am well aware of all his past transgressions - "  
  
"Oh, I don't doubt that." Coulson peered at him curiously. "Haven't figured out yet why you let him take over Asgard, but..." He stopped himself. "Look, I'm not here to question your laws. I've seen his type before. _Expertly_ manipulative. A lot of our politicians have the same quality. But regardless, here on Earth, he's not a leader. He's an alien. One whose motives we need to understand if we are to have _any_ sense of security, whether you're here with him or not."  
  
Thor dipped his head, trying to keep the peace. "I will always consider SHIELD trustworthy allies - allies of Asgard - in spite of all _your_ secrets and lies." He couldn't help but point that out. "However, I will not stand idly by while you take his wife and child against their will."  
  
Coulson had nothing more for him - other than a tight-lipped expression of frustration. Two expert diplomats in intense negotiation. Had Thor not been there, she doubted any of the others would have been able to put a halt to the attempt at an arrest.  
  
Suddenly the deathly silence was broken by the sound of a bowstring drawing tight, originating somewhere behind them. Without even looking she jumped up and appeared a few feet further back from where it had sounded like he was. Barton. His expression was intense and unwavering, even as his head whipped around to see where she had gone. His weapon was still aimed at Loki.  
  
Slowly, Loki turned around on the sofa, his eyes half-closed in a wide, taunting grin. "Hello again, _Barton_." It was the first time they'd spoken, despite hours of close proximity. He squinted at him. "I must say... you don't seem like yourself."

He eyed the obviously-customized arrow's tip - only five or six feet away - and laid his long fingers protectively over the side of Isleif's head. Barton did not budge. So Loki continued, with a bit of an incredulous laugh. "Am I to believe now that you would risk harming an innocent child?"  
  
Very slightly, Barton shook his head. "No." Then, with robotic precision, he turned the arrow to her. "But I have no problem harming _her_."  
  
Stark broke away from Coulson and stepped into the conversation, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa... hey, what's the problem here?" He rolled his eyes a little. "I mean, all of a sudden. I know you've got some history with the guy..."  
  
Barton's eyes stayed locked on her. He watched her tremble... but her face wasn't showing fear. There was no longer much point in faking it. Isleif was entirely safe. She lifted her gaze and quickly judged the distance between her and the arrow, as an evil grin spread across her lips. He was very careful not to react to that as he explained. "I figured out why Nat's not answering her phone." He nodded slightly towards the center of the room, losing no focus. "Check the news."  
  
"JARVIS - " Automatically the A.I. turned the display back on, showing several stations' worth of news. Every armed human in the room immediately re-aimed their weapons right at Loki. And Banner just backed away calmly... out of all possible lines of fire.  
  
The news was overwhelmingly focused on a single structure. A well-known one. One of the tallest freestanding structures in Europe, she believed. Some had very high aerial views of it, showing the amount of the country already suffering zero-visibility blizzard conditions. In the middle of summer. Others had found the source: a dimly-glowing blue box. It was very near the top of said tower. A few of the dangerously-close views just barely showed Romanov. She was standing on the roof of the building... still covered from enemy fire on three sides by the tips of the narrow, tapering structures which comprised its outer shell. Her expression, from what she could tell, was only cold and calculating. She was on a mission. A dangerous one. And she was using all her super-spy skills to ensure its complete success.  
  
Coulson's eyes went wide. He furrowed his brow and took a few steps towards the display, bending slightly to study the clearest images. "Moscow. Russia Tower. May... go get her. Take as many as you need."  
  
May nodded, though he hadn't even checked to see if she'd understood. It was more like a force of habit. And she could see why, as she finally recovered from memory the agent's stony face. She was the one who'd operated SHIELD's escape vehicle when they'd taken her from Hydra. And the jet. Must be one of his best agents. She ordered a few of the others in the room to follow and they left without a word.  
  
"Natasha..." Rogers breathed, still staring, in complete disbelief of what he saw.  
  
Thor turned to Loki and pointed at him, threateningly, with Mjolnir. "What have you done to her?"  
  
Loki's eyes had been mostly on the screens with the others', but he snapped to attention with the first official accusation. "I have done nothing, Brother," he refuted calmly. Everyone stared him down. So he elaborated - with a quiet, weary sigh. "Though I do bear some resentment towards this realm, I would never do something so crude as..." He turned his attention briefly back to the images, raising an eyebrow. "...this."

Suddenly Thor leapt forward, prepared to grab his brother and coerce from him the truth. But 4372 appeared between them. She assumed a defensive position, her green eyes suddenly venomous. The most obvious of warnings she could convey without interrupting Loki's trial. He still held her baby.  
  
Thor scoffed, and stepped back away from the... confused, and expecting mortal. "How else do you propose that Lady Natasha would gain access to none other than the Cask of Ancient Winters?"  
  
He raised his head defiantly. "I have no knowledge of this..."  
  
Thor sidestepped her blockade and raised the hammer this time, but she appeared before him again... now only a few feet from his brother. She placed a small but firm hand upon his armored chest. But the wrathful look on her face was what really made him consider her, looking down at her face, and then her hand, mildly concerned. They both knew she had the ability to put up a decent fight, even versus the mighty and much larger Thor. A decisive battle - as all he would have to do was take her down and pin her with that hammer - but the question remained as to whether he would get the chance.  
  
Loki refocused on Barton. He'd moved away, giving him the strategic ability to threaten them both at once. She'd seen it too. He expertly adjusted his aim to follow her every movement... even predicting her teleports.  
  
He looked down at his child for a minute, as the last of her cries finally quieted. When he looked back up it was clear that he was losing what little patience he had for all of this. "Brother you must realize, as I do... Asgard has been without a king for some time now - the contest of loyalties, and the indecision of its _former_ , causing significant unrest amongst the loyal." As Thor lowered Mjolnir to listen, she removed her hand. "Any of the soldiers more vehemently in favor of my..." He glanced down in shame. "...anger-driven, cause, to overtake this realm, could be suspected of planning such a thing." He looked back at the screens.  
  
Rogers narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head, a discreetly raised hand silencing Coulson's biased input. "Why use one of us, then? That's more than a little suspicious, don't you think? Why not just do it themselves?"  
  
Loki lifted his chin, looking at him like he wasn't sure he was serious. Because it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard. The condescention dripped from his words. "Anonymity grants one immunity from persecution in our realm... just as it does in yours."  
  
"Why _Nat?_ " Barton demanded, slightly lowering the unknown arrow.  
  
At that, his eyes crinkled up in a mockingly ill-concealed smirk. He shifted them his way, replying suggestively, "She's got red on her ledger."  
  
Barton didn't like that answer. But he was good at concealing his emotions. Very good. Unfortunately for him, it was part of her skill set to root them out. His jaw didn't clench, but it set. His face froze solid, revealing even less than before. But his pupils dilated slightly. Enough to put her on edge. With no further warning and expert speed he re-aimed his weapon at Loki, straightening his posture, struggling for a moment to control his righteous anger. She reappeared right in front of it. Not prepared to take an arrow herself, she butterfly-kicked the entire weapon from his grasp, just as his fingers released. It missed Loki's head by several feet. Then she drew her daggers.  
  
Before his bow had even finished its slide across the floor, Barton had quick-drawn a sharp-looking blade of his own. But he stepped back as she advanced. Her palms had been itching for daggers since long before they'd arrived at Stark Tower. She _wanted_ this fight. She didn't even care who knew it anymore.  
  
Stark moved in quickly, and the remaining agents followed, every weapon aimed at her. Except for Coulson's. It was so huge it slowed him down, and it never once strayed from Loki.  
  
Before he could open his wise-cracking face again, her arm flung out, aggressively pointing at Barton, and all who were just too freaking close. "Don't waste your breath Stark," she snarled, her gaze still fixed on the master assassin behind him. "Barton fired a weapon. At the father of my child. He made the decision to risk her getting hurt. And now he's going to have to fight _me_ if he wants to so much as _look at_ her."  
  
Doctor Banner had been slowing making his way around the perimeter of the room, arms folded, brow lightly furrowed in concern. Observing. He stepped forward from where he was, which put him right next to Loki and Isleif... immediately getting her attention. He held out his hands. "Nobody has to fight anyone," he stated firmly. "And what's happening here is... well, whatever it is, it's not the team I work for." He was addressing the room, but he glanced at her often. The timbre of his voice raised noticeably, a little more urgent. "With the kinds of things we deal with, we can't just operate on precedence, or our preconceived notions about _anything_." With open palms and raised eyebrows, he turned slightly. "Innocent until proven guilty, right?" He peered over the top of his glasses at Loki. "No matter how suspicious it seems."  
  
Rogers dipped his head in acknowledgement as he sauntered up to the situation, but spoke somewhat reluctantly. "He's right. That's not how we do things." He checked Thor's expression first to see where he was with this. Livid. He turned back to them. "But I'll tell you something else: if turns out you _are_ responsible, in _any_ way..." He smiled and scoffed. "...it's all over for you." He shot her a potent look of warning, earning him an instant, vicious sneer. " _You_ can't escape us forever." Then he glared and pointed at Loki. "And _you_ won't be going back to Asgard in chains again. Three strikes and you're out, buddy. I don't recommend that you swing."  
  
His expression unchanged, he stared while he whispered something to pacify Isleif's fussing, renewed by all the stress.  
  
Thor's expression melted into one of pure, unhindered wonder, each time he watched his famously-unbalanced brother calm his daughter. He didn't deny Rogers' threat. But he opened his arms wide, desperately pleading with Loki. "Brother... think of your mortal! Think of the family you have! You wish to destroy them as well?"  
  
That got Loki's attention. His head snapped up, a look of incredulous anger in his eyes. He closed them though, and let out a low, condescending chuckle. "Odin's Son," he hissed. "You make play, that we are still brothers! That you would love them all as your own. As you and Father once claimed to love me." His words were caustic to the ears, full of hate and rage and fury. "Again you weaponize the past for use against me. Yet no amount of your _pathetic_ , misled pleadings will change the fact that I am not responsible."  
  
The sound of several men screaming in agony brought everyone's eyes right back to the running display. A large team of local authorities in SWAT-type gear had made it to the top of the tower and confronted Romanov, yelling orders at her in Russian. At least one was already down, holding a bloody knee, several feet away. Two more with riot shields were still closing in. Like that was going to help. She held the cask up effortlessly with one hand - though, it seemed to almost cling to it. Not much of a surprise, she thought, as strange and supernatural as it is. There were several times she should have dropped it, while she deftly repelled every attempt they made to subdue her, then finally drew a gun. She paused for half a second, though, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Swiftly, she put it away, and turned the Cask directly on them all. They didn't scream. They didn't panic. They simply froze in place, instantly coated in a thick layer of ice... though one did manage to dodge it long enough to see it all happen to his teammates. An extraordinarily large man in full gear, he ran at her while her back was turned... until she swung the ancient weapon right into his helmet. Instantly he went down. She raised both eyebrows and tilted her head at his crumpled form, impressed. "Eta voyna slishkom kholodno dlya vas."  
  
Coulson blinked. Then he put two fingers to his ear and made it clear not to engage her.  
  
They'd all been captivated by the fearsome demonstration of Agent Romanov's skills. Except for the one who was already intimately familiar with them. Barton wasn't there anymore. Instantly, she realized where he'd gone.  
  
Rogers was gripping Barton's arm tightly, quietly urging him to stop, trying to get his attention... and not hers. But Barton had already retrieved his weapon of choice and aimed it at Loki again. Point blank. Rogers' superhuman, white-knuckled grip was having no effect on his ability. He was breathing heavily, his jaw was clenched in an effort to control his own rage and a raw, passionate determination could be seen beneath that cracking mask of stoicism.  
  
Loki's eyes had widened a bit, as they shifted from them to Thor, and back. They neatly avoided her... so as to give her every chance of taking them all by surprise. Which is exactly what she did.  
  
She considered her options. Barton had thought this one through. He'd focused on stealth and strategy, leaving no space between them with which she could interfere. The narrow arm of Stark's fancy, expensive leather sofa took up what little space there was. And Rogers stood at his side, directly in her path.

Thor was moving that way too. But teleporting was - by definition - going from one spot to another _without_ the space between. She grinned and appeared between them again, delicately balanced on the arm of the sofa. She feigned a low strike at Rogers, causing him to let go of Barton, and Barton - for some odd reason - turned his head for a second to make sure his friend was okay. She laughed at him out loud. She wasn't _strong_ , like them. Just agile. In one fluid motion she turned her hips and struck his neck with a single foot, sideways. But it wasn't strong enough to be called any kind of kick. Instead she kept it there and jumped into it, sacrificing her balance and position and putting all of her weight into shoving _them both_ away. He and his bow both crashed to the floor, and she landed feet-first on top of him, ensuring that he would stay there. The move had come with the _very_ high risk of him still being able to shoot first. But it was also the last thing he'd expected. And she knew something that they didn't. It gave her the confidence and the freedom she needed to take that kind of risk.  
  
It wasn't really Loki.  
  
It was a projection of Loki. Non-corporeal. For the most part, it was him... the reactions, the words, the body language. But If anyone touched him, the illusion would be disrupted, revealing once and for all that Loki wasn't there...  
  
Isleif wasn't there either. She was with Loki in Russia. Close to - but not _in_ \- the continuing chaos. It was the only way she could be convinced to fight the Avengers alone. If Isleif was somewhere far, far away from it all.  
  
It was taking all of his energy to maintain the perfectly-defensive, outraged and now shocked projection of himself while at the same time doing what he was really doing. And it was her job to keep it safe.  
  
Loki's genius mind had concocted this odd plan a few weeks ago. Odd, and not like him at all. Not his style - too clumsy, too suspicious, and leaving himself far too vulnerable for his liking.

"You know they will come for you," he'd warned her, in the exact middle of nowhere to which he'd been transported.  
  
"SHIELD? But Stark said - "  
  
"Stark is a man who toys with nature." He paused to peer down a long row of corn stalks, some of which were even taller than him. "Things with properties he has yet to understand. I suspect it will be his undoing. But, I digress. They _will_ find you. They will come for you. And I cannot save you from them all."  
  
She'd looked at him fearfully, as if he'd just sentenced her to death. But it didn't last long. She took a deep breath, shook her head once and glared down into the dirt. "You won't have to."  
  
At that he'd grinned excitedly. "Oh I know!" He paced the rows away from her, hands behind his back. "And I do so love the wicked little dragon you've become. Whether _you_ do, or not." He turned around just enough to study her reaction. "However I will not risk the lives of you all. Instead we shall _strike first_." Her eyes shifted to the side, even further away. She loved to hear him talk like this. But her bloodlust was something she feared, now that she was out in the world again.  
  
He took on a more commanding tone. "I will watch them, closely. And - when the time is right - one of Earth's champions will seem to simply... wander away. They will be under my control." She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Being controlled was a horrific experience... He glanced down in thought. "Though... this is never a simple task. Especially when the mind is strong and resistant to my effects."  
  
She closed her eyes. "I remember."  
  
He was making his way back to her. "It will, unfortunately, take my full concentration. And I must be close to my victim. This cannot take place where we are." Gently, he lifted her chin. "I will have our child. Isleif and I will be safe. But you must protect us, nonetheless."  
  
She'd frowned at him, confused. But he only smiled at her. "An illusion, pet. It will appear as if they may have a greater enemy, assuring them of our innocence as well." Then his smile faded a bit. "I'm sure there will be some who refuse to acknowledge this as a possibility." His tone darkened as he dropped his hand, suddenly angry. "My dear brother comes to mind."  
  
A few hundred years of varied levels of failure had proven to Loki that he could never defeat Thor in battle. Always a sore subject, but he'd mentioned it before. She realized something - and berated herself for not having seen it sooner. What he was doing. Of course, she thought. I have a skill that he doesn't; one that practically nullifies anyone's strength and speed. _I probably can_.  
  
I may very well be the _only_ being he knows who can. Well, the only one whose decisions he has a resentfully disproportionate amount of control over...  
  
She'd frozen and stared into space then, as she remembered the look in his eyes, the moment she first told him of her latent ability's symptoms. _Fear_. He knew, even then! Somehow he'd known all along. He'd recognized it, and seen in her the potential... long before Coulson ever did. The potential for true power. And true evil. And all he had to do was keep it under control. His control.  
  
God of lies. Manipulation. Deception. How far did it go? He might not even care for her at all. He probably planned to leave her when she was of no further use.  
  
And then there was Earth. She was, in the end, _some_ amount of human. She felt a connection to it. She didn't want to see it utterly destroyed. The people... No, she decided. This was what Earth needed. Only the drastic levels of chaos that Loki had described could keep her children safe, and comfortable, and change her people's ways. The ways that allowed for silent persecution of her, their dissenters and the numbers. For organizations like Hydra to even exist. For guiltless acts such as the implant still in her now, at this very moment! Furrowing her brow, she reached back and touched between her shoulders where they'd put it. Right after she'd saved them from Loki, no less. Farce or not. It didn't hurt much anymore. But the deluge of memories that followed...  
  
"My Queen..." He'd inquired, peering into her eyes.  
  
She hadn't even felt them well up. But a single tear had already escaped to her cheek. She'd almost lost her daughter. The only thing her heart had ever wanted. And that was the push she needed. She found herself suddenly having very few qualms with Loki's definitions of 'change' and 'healing vengeance'. Wanting to help him, no matter how long he really planned to stay. She shook with a pure, tumultuous, demanding rage that would enable her to do just that.  
  
He'd smiled uneasily at the sight of her quivering form; her fury. He placed a gentle hand onto her chest, bringing her back to him. "One of their own will be who brings our vengeance to light," he said more softly. Slowly, he lifted that hand to wipe away the one rebellious tear. When she avoided his gaze he smiled and continued on, as if she'd shown no weakness. "The thought of it pleases me greatly. The Avengers, however mighty, cannot fight a culprit they cannot find. The only doubt which remains is for their morals. They still may try to harm you..."  
  
"They won't," she'd said, scoffing. _That_ was their true weakness. The thoughts of the people they fought for. To them she was the victimized, vengeful girl with a presence in the minds of the masses. "The Avengers are nothing without their righteousness. They'll let me go before they hurt me in any serious way. Or a way that would threaten _them_." She looked down and put a hand on her entirely-too nauseated stomach. "Doesn't matter what else they _suspect_. They know they're not a lie. It was Banner who saw them first."  
  
She smirked once more, remembering, as she struggled to keep her balance. The breath was returning to Barton's pummeled lungs. She had to keep both arms out to do so. Suddenly, Rogers grabbed one. What a bad idea.

She took a second to turn the smirk on him while he angrily pried the dagger from her fingers. Finally he realized what he was doing. He was still eyeing her threateningly when they appeared in the middle of that cornfield. Stunned, he tried to look everywhere at once. But he got his bearings quickly. He dropped her wrist like it was poisonous and brought his shield forward, backing away... right into where she'd relocated herself already. She gave him a playful shove, starling him enough to make him turn and draw his sidearm, dropping the dagger out from behind that stupid shield. Almost instantly it was aimed at her wielding arm, which she put up with the other, lifting them slowly into the air. She took several quick steps backwards and away, a frightened yet defiant expression on her face.  
  
"Stop," he ordered, advancing on her position with the gun. But she'd already put some distance between them. She obeyed. "Drop the weapon. Then... tell me where I am."  
  
She looked around innocently. "I... I don't know the name of the town. But I'm pretty sure most would just call it 'the middle of nowhere', anyway." She appeared back behind him where they'd started, smiling, picked up the dagger and vanished without a trace.  
  
She returned to the same spot - conspicuously void of Barton. But someone else had been waiting for her. Someone who knew that that was where she'd reappear.

Thor took one big step and grabbed her by the upper edge of her armor, close to her shoulder - where the tunic still covered her skin. "Where is Steve the Captain?" he demanded of her, searching her eyes for any response to the roughness that he very much wished he didn't have to use on such a mortal.  
  
She lowered her brow, annoyed, and silent. Then the thought of a particularly awesome reply made her grin. Just a little. "I sent him to the cornfield." She couldn't help herself. "He was thinking bad things about me."  
  
Loki, now standing, let out a low chuckle. Either he'd understood the reference somehow, or he was just laughing out loud at the audacity his little creation had shown his fearsome brother.  
  
She used the distraction to grab for Thor's forearm, but he whipped it away too quickly. He stepped just outside of her reach, tightening his grip on Mjolnir. "You will bring him back!" When all he got was a discerning glare, he took a deep breath. He saw the rage behind it. It was similar to that of Loki. No threat would earn back her cooperation. He calmed himself and spoke reassuringly. "I do not wish to harm you... Sara."  
  
Yet even as the words left his lips, the others were closing in. She could hear Coulson giving orders to agents not in the room. Agents not inching towards her with their hands discreetly placed on or near each of their guns. "She's relocated Captain America. Run a satellite search. Start with the places we've seen her appear before." Smart. He'd figured out that those were easier for her. He watched her the whole time he spoke of course, analyzing every twitch. Eyes still locked on her, he added, "Also... actual cornfields."

She poofed over in front of him and touched his earpiece just as he had done. It was small. She took it away with her before he could even react. Then, on the other side of the room - far from all the agents - she dropped it and smashed it with her boot. "I am getting _very_ sick of hearing your voice, Director Coulson."  
  
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Barton. He'd appeared from the end of the hallway behind her, aiming a gun, of all things. She hedged. Why had he given up the bow? It didn't matter. He always moved too damn fast, and was almost completely silent. He circled around to confront her with the weapon.  
  
At that Banner spoke up, though his voice was still soft and calm. "Please don't use that on her." He sauntered towards them both. "Clint. She's just a little overprotective, alright? We can still talk this out..."  
  
Barton continued to move in, with Thor not far behind. He replied to Banner though. "It's just an ICER." She backed herself into the corner, looking around, gripping her daggers... nervously thinking, but ready to disappear if she had to. His steely gaze was making the former quite difficult. "Stand down, and tell us where Cap is. If you can just do that, then I won't feel the need to use this _or_ let these guys take you into custody..." She eyed the device, wondering if its projectiles were slower than bullets. Maybe she could escape it.  
  
Coulson followed her gaze. "Tranquilizer darts. Sort-of," he offered, glancing at Barton. "A _very_ powerful formula. Just one will incapacitate you, no problem. And he's a _really_ good shot." He smiled smugly, like the words just weren't enough. "Why not save everyone the trouble? This world's about to erupt into chaos. Whether it's _your_ chaos or not, your family will be safer with us." He gave a little sideways nod. "We can talk about Rogers later."  
  
She began to shake again. Lies. She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the rage inside from building up so quickly. But she opened them right on him.  
  
Coulson's eyes went wide. "No, don't - " But it was too late. She appeared behind him, wrapped her arm around his lying neck and took him somewhere else.  
  
He gasped as he stumbled away from her. That's right, she remembered. It freaks him the fuck out. She snickered. Slowly, he regained composure and lowered the gun. He let out the breath he'd been holding and looked around. "Tahiti..." She disappeared with a satisfied smirk.  
  
Now in a _different_ spot in the room, she immediately realized that Barton was nowhere to be found. With all the communications down, he'd probably gone after Romanov, she thought. Or was somewhere in the building organizing an ambush...  
  
Thor was arguing with Loki... loudly, pointing his weapon again. Meanwhile Stark and Banner were employing all the remaining agents and most of the display's screens, conducting simultaneous searches for the others.  
  
Loki laughed out loud and lifted his free hand palm-up towards the window. Outside it was beginning to snow. "And how do you suggest I accomplish this? It seems it's already too late." Thor's anger was rising with every word. Loki saw this and closed his eyes for a moment, a slight sigh in his tone. "Bring the Cask to me, and I will try. Until then, your words are pointless." He turned and walked away. Thor raised his free hand to stop him. Shit. She teleported over there and did what she thought would distract him the fastest. She slapped a hand onto Mjolnir. But though she had summoned enough power for that kind of object, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't take it away. It felt kind of like the collar. Just... too much material. Interesting.  
  
He stopped and looked down at her, pulling the hammer away. But she'd already poofed to his other side. So he turned that way and smiled at her, kindly... confidently. "You are a brave and noble little draugr. I admire your inner strength..." She backed away. She was running out of energy. She had to conserve it; only use it when she had to. He shook his head dubiously as she did. "But you have taken two of my friends. I cannot allow you to continue." Then, to her surprise, all he did was offer her his hand.

Did... did he think she couldn't teleport Asgardians? No. They'd all seen her do it. Ohmygod, she thought, pressing her lips together to prevent an incredulous scoff. He thinks I can't teleport _him_. Because he's holding Mjolnir...  
  
Still, she had it make it look good. She continued to back away fearfully, both daggers out, then stopped and pointed one at him from afar. "All I ever asked of you all is that you stay away from Isleif... doesn't matter whose arms she's in!"  
  
"And I promise you that they will," he lied, nodding. "But what SHIELD asks for, in return for your safety, is that you and Loki return with them to their fortress." He spoke with a sense of... understanding. But he _didn't_ understand. "I will accompany you and ensure that you are in no way mistreated. Please..." He held out his hand again with a rather charming smile as he neared her, flanked by agents...  
  
Her heart was pounding in her chest. She just wasn't sure. She had to be sure. She looked around. The agents had put away their weapons. Probably at Thor's request. Some of them even looked friendly. She kept a tight grip on her daggers as she looked to her left. To Loki.  
  
He raised his head and narrowed his eyes at her. He was still holding Isleif - more than a little protective of her now, while under the enemies' glares. And she was holding him. Her tiny blue hand was gripping one of his fingers. It seemed to make her happy. Sara smiled.

Looking down in consideration of the question she needn't ask, he very lightly traced with his thumb a marking on the back of her hand. One that was identical to his. Then, at last, he looked up. He dipped his head slightly in acceptance of the proposal. But the way he'd shifted his eyes said something different. That he knew what she was doing.  
  
She took in a deep breath and stood up straight. Thor's excessively-large hand was still out there, closer, waiting. Reluctantly, she took it. She looked into his eyes with uncertainty, seeing nothing in his but an overwhelming sense of relief. Then she had to look away. She had to concentrate. Gently, he led her towards the door, the agents taking up positions on every side. Of course. But in her mind she was studying the atoms; identifying them, carefully, as separate from certain others...  
  
She closed her eyes for just a second. And when she opened them, she and the almighty Thor had appeared on a cold, desolate mountain. The only sound was that of a strong wind and the flapping of a nearby string of colorful prayer flags. Tibet. A place she'd found and loved... and one from which it would take him a _very_ long time to descend.

He looked down at his hand as if there were something wrong with it. Mjolnir was no longer in it. He clenched it into a fist. Surveying his surroundings from under a lowered brow, he let out an angry yell. His frustration echoed in the vast, rocky gorge. But she was already gone.  
  
Panting from levels of exhaustion which could only be properly described as supernatural, she appeared next to Loki this time, and fell down to her knees. Immediately, though, she looked up for further instruction. He could see her through all his illusions, as if he were really there. And most of his actions were - for the sake of simplicity - real. He gave her a mischievous grin. Thor was gone, his hammer sitting abandoned on the floor. And the white haze outside was thickening. They'd done it. They'd finally won!  
  
The sound of Iron Man's main weapon powering up snapped them both out of their elation. She jumped up, moved between them and grabbed the arm he'd extended in her direction. How had he even snuck up on her? Well, perhaps he missed the desert. And she had _just_ enough energy to oblige him.  
  
She found herself focusing... fruitlessly. Her ability had had no effect. She looked down at her hand, confused. She was sure she had the energy, and complete contact; she felt it. She was _very_ familiar with that suit. What the... actual fuck...  
  
Stark tilted his head at her. He spoke casually, though his visor was still down and it sounded like he was talking into a can. "Yeah... um, about that. We _really_ need to talk." The mask looked down at her hand, expressionless, but his voice was patronizingly emotional. Gingerly, he removed it with the other. "We just... can't keep doing this, you and I..."  
  
Instantly she hated herself. Of course! That little excursion he'd insisted on wasn't 'scientific curiosity'. It was just _science_. Research. All the questions... His suit! It had all kinds of recording instruments in it. He'd taken that data, and somehow discovered a way to prevent the suit from being relocated. He turned away quickly, dismissively, and started towards the door.  
  
Suddenly all the agents were on her, and Loki seemed truly concerned. But he could only express his outrage with his words. "You will _not_ take her with you!" He scanned the room for sympathy. "Stark!" He took a few steps forward, but stayed a safe distance away, clutching Isleif to him protectively.  
  
Two of them gripped her upper arms, the one on her left trying to pry the dagger from her hand. They started to march her forward, right past Stark - who just stood there, supervising, arms folded. Angrily she resisted the movement, ignoring their attempts to negotiate her cooperation. But she couldn't help but pause after a minute to glance from one to the other... incredulous. Were they really going to make her do it again? Just... sacrifice two of their agents? It made no sense. Why? She snarled and glared at the agent who'd more expertly deprived her of her dagger. And at the first true attempt to restrain her, she summoned the last of her energy... _so close_ to drawing another. But just before she could do either one - or _both_ \- of those things, she heard Stark's suit approaching. He distracted her with his presence. She'd hoped that he'd prevent this. But apparently she couldn't read him. Couldn't _trust_ him. He reached out with unexpected speed and touched the side of her neck. Instantly every muscle in her body tightened up, so extremely that it burned. She began to violently convulse. She gasped loudly, involuntarily, even her vocal chords tight. Fuck. Stark had put some sort of taser in that thing.

"Sorry, Snowbunny," he placated. "I liked you. I really did." He held her shoulder still - as gently as one could with metal fingers - and they lowered her to the floor. He maintained contact, determined to cause her to lose all consciousness, quickly.  
  
She woke up on a goddamned table, with an IV in her arm, and Banner hovering above her. He was smiling at her, genuinely, kindly. It calmed her just a bit. Still, she jumped up and off of it... stumbling. Banner held out his hands - not touching her, but prepared to prevent a fall. "Easy. Take it _easy_ ," he urged. "Don't try to teleport. You'll probably pass out on arrival." It seemed like an honest suggestion. She looked at the bag she was attached to, trying to read the crumpled-up label. It was empty. "It's a sedative. It's the only way they'd let us keep you _here_."  
  
Her eyes darted around the room nervously. She wasn't in SHIELD custody. She relaxed a little, and put a hand on her aching, spinning head. "Why."  
  
Stark came in from just outside, suitless, but eyeing her with confidence nonetheless. "I talked them into it." He raised both eyebrows. "Well. Me and the unwashed masses." He handed her a tablet displaying a news article. "For some reason, SHIELD just wasn't _quite_ able to keep this one under wraps. Not that I had anything to do with it." She wondered how good of a liar he was when he tried.  
  
She scanned the device in her hand. People had actually remembered her! When they'd found out what was going on, they'd rioted... those who weren't needlessly freaking out or dealing with the side effects of the appearance of a whole new ice age. She navigated away from that one and accessed more of the same. Stark rolled his eyes slightly. He'd expected her to hand it back.  
  
Natasha had no memory of doing what she did, giving rise to the theory that she might still be - however subconsciously - a product of her past. The red room was a program well-known for producing amazingly intelligent yet oblivious sleeper agents. And the Cask had mysteriously disappeared.  
  
One of the photos, when expanded to its max, showed a familiar face. Sight! And she was pretty sure Flex and Brianna were with him too. They were amongst the other rioters. Their courage knew no bounds. Yet nobody seemed to care about the man with the stark black eyes.  
  
Apparently she'd been out for a few _days_. That little revelation instantly inspired in her the urge to get violent with her captors. But she realized something else... already the numbers had been able to _assimilate_. All the impending crises had forced the authorities to do their real jobs... no time to hunt them down. The reactions she worked so hard to keep inside would have been quite incriminating in their entirety. So all she allowed to show were the wide eyes, and a whole lot of tears. Tears of freaking joy. The pitiful looks that Banner and Stark exchanged told her they thought she was simply devastated, by all the destruction and chaos, like a lot of the rest of the world. Captain America was elsewhere in the news. As was Thor. No Barton. I wonder if they've retrieved Coulson yet, she thought with an expertly-stifled giggle. Probably not. 'Priorities'.


	37. Say Goodbye

The Avengers. Earth's heroes. Determined to save the world. Not willing to do what was necessary.  
  
"What else was a part of this bargain?" Loki demanded of them all.  
  
Stark held up his hands with pointed fingers. "Now before I explain it all, keep in mind, I didn't have much to bargain _with_. The three of us put together - you, me and Snowbunny there - have about as much of their trust as three bricks in a wet paper bag." Loki furrowed his brow at the nickname, but didn't say anything. She smiled slightly. "First of all... the drugs. Which I made sure were not anything debilitating."  
  
" _I_ made sure.." Banner chimed in unexpectedly.  
  
" _He_ made sure. Second: you have to stay put for just a little while longer. So they can 'debrief' you." She parted her lips to object but he cut her off. "I know, I know it seems like a lot to ask. But you _did_ relocate three people against their will. Just sayin."  
  
She stared incredulously. "Now why would I want to do that?"  
  
Banner stepped forward for that part. "Well, they'll remove the tracker, for one. They're the only ones who _can_ , by the looks of it. And, once they're convinced you had nothing to do with this, you'll all be free to go."  
  
She cocked her head at him. "We're free to go _now_."  
  
"Ah, no..." Stark tentatively corrected. "You see, Thor's still not convinced. And he's decided to go and be king of Vikingsberg now..."  
  
She looked to Loki, who'd somehow managed to reassume his default regal posture while holding a squirming Isleif. "I thought it might be so."  
  
"Yeah..." Stark drew it out, uncertain. "So... one step out that door - _especially_ if it's off the planet - and the whole deal's off. Open season."  
  
She scowled, searching for the right words to accurately convey what she thought of SHIELD's 'threat'. But Loki laid his free hand on her shoulder. He nodded, solemnly. "Very well."  
  
As soon as they were (relatively) alone again, she teleported them both to the roof. He was gradually getting used to that. Still she averted her eyes. "Sorry, I... " Then she looked back up. "Loki... you gave up your throne for this! I... had no idea..."  
  
"No..." he corrected patiently, gesturing towards the wind-blown, deep-frozen skyscrapers now plastered with snow. "I gave up the throne for _this_." He dipped his head. "For a modestly satisfying amount of vengeance upon those who have wronged us both. And for _my children_. You will all be forever safe now, in this realm."  
  
She pressed her lips together, but ended up saying the first thing that came to mind anyway. "Yeah I don't know about that..."  
  
He looked at her curiously for a moment. Then he let out a low chuckle and turned an outstretched arm to her. She took his open hand and he led her to the edge of the roof; the one that faced the street. He peered over it, and in a few more steps she saw what he already apparently already had. Or _heard_... The street was filled with rioters. So many that none of the vehicles belonging to the citizens who - for whatever reason - chose to flee the city could get through. Some were calling for the Avengers to save the world. Some held signs which expressed their distaste that they'd failed. And some were there... for her! Even a few for Loki! Everything from a simple "Free 4372" to crossed-out SHIELD logos and "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." This was causing the occasional physical fight. It looked like the world's biggest mosh pit.  
  
Her bewildered expression gave way to a mischievous grin as she turned her face back to Loki, who'd been watching her, clearly pleased. "The safest place for you, My Queen, is in the public eye."  
  
He was absolutely right. Sure, she'd made friends in Asgard. And been kidnapped all the same. And even with this world thrown into turmoil, it would have been only a matter of time before some osmium-packing asshole tried to hurt her and her babies. But now... no one would dare. Lest they be caught by - and incur the wrath of - _their own_.  
  
From that day forward, the Avengers sans Thor put all their efforts into helping those most in need. But their world was already irreversibly, drastically changed. Its inhabitants had spent so much of their precious time building this... society, full of corruption and weakness, veiled by blind complacency. And the ice age broke it down. The way they'd broken _her_ down, into nothingness, stripped of all honor and virtue. She'd fallen into oblivion... then Loki had given her purpose.  
  
She watched it all happen - with vindicating, well-hidden glee - through all their debriefings and interrogations. Their 'temporary acquittal' due to lack of any evidence. The construction of a truly magnificent fortress in the north to house their growing family. All the while watching her belly stretch and swell. Loki was nothing but kind and attentive... her loyalty no longer in question.  
  
Inevitably there were casualties. Things like money and caste no longer increased one's likelihood of survival. Most governments and bureaucracies collapsed immediately under the weight of their own peoples' demands, leaving only the independent, the smart and the strong to rule the lands. It was... a cleansing. Just what humanity needed. And humanity - despite its imperfections - of course it began to rebuild.  
  
Any other kind of cataclysm would have accomplished the same results. It was a softly-spoken, humbling mass realization. These things had happened before, and they'd always known that someday they would happen again. They just never suspected that it would come in the form of a remorseless Norse god and his gifted, viciously resilient little human. And so, they never did.  
  
The southern hemisphere became more like the northern. And the northern... well it was a winter wonderland. A masterpiece in glimmering white and blue. Green, only occasionally, in the sections of North America free of permafrost. Where summer was more like a very early spring.  
  
She lived there for the most part. She rarely stayed in _any_ one place for more than a day or two, preferring to test her ability instead - for as long as she possibly could. But she identified it as her home, to anyone out there who was inclined to ask. Earth. Rimeland, the southernmost section. Loki kept her warm.  
  
One particularly melty day, when the smooth, narrow leaves of the crocus, narcissus and hyacinth were just beginning to break through the snow's thinnest layers, she waddled into Loki's extravagant-yet-unofficial throne room. Waddled, that is, because at that point she felt like she was almost all boobs and belly! It was difficult to walk anymore - gracefully, at least. For the most part she avoided it.  
  
He was sprawled out across the throne itself, shining beautifully in all his full regalia. His hand was curled over his lips in pensive relaxation. When his eyes finally wandered her way however, he just about leapt right out of it. They were wide for a second, but he took only a few steps, making no attempt to stop her awkward movements. He knew that would end quite badly.

Instead, he closed his eyes and put his hands out in front of him, shaking them at her slightly as his fingers curled into loose fists. "No no no, you... stubborn, _foolish_ girl!" He parted his lips to express his displeasure some more as she eyed him, amused, and stopped a few feet from the throne. But first he contained his distress. "Please. I beg of you, have a servant come fetch me next time..." She gave him a smug grin, but looked down, holding her belly with one hand and the small of her back with the other.

He stared incredulously for a moment, like he wasn't sure _how_ she was walking around, nevermind the multi-part, incredibly frustrating question as to _why_. He stepped down, with as much calm as he could muster, though she could see her constant disobedience was beginning to piss him off.  
  
"My King," she began. He would always be her king. "What did your brother say?"  
  
He approached and looked into her eyes as he gently placed his hands on her belly. He looked down at them then, as he always did. Fascinated, amazed and just a slight hint of worried for her. She sometimes wondered which of them was more prepared for the triplets' impending arrival. Quickly, he lifted his head to break himself free of the trance. "He allows it." Slowly, his hands slid off of her. "I suppose, then, that you will demand to attend."  
  
She smiled up at him so brightly her eyes almost squeezed shut. Didn't even need to nod. He looked down and away for a moment, thinking, absorbing that fact. When his gaze returned he placed his hands on her shoulders, urgently, locking eyes with her. He lifted his chin - and there was a stronger, more finalizing tone to his otherwise-silky voice. "I insist that you wear the hood."  
  
Her smile dimmed only a little. He couldn't _make_ her do anything. But the adorable, dominating-yet-desperate look on his face just... made her freaking _want_ to. "Not a problem."  
  
Ever since she'd started to show - and much to her chagrin - Loki had continually cast doubt on her ability, and by extension her safety as well. The triplets' unpredictable, jotun-strength movements and a couple of Braxton-Hicks incidents had pretty much proven his point. Like all things painful, they disrupted her concentration.

As a result, she'd barely been seen outside the fortress. Perhaps it was for the better though, she thought to herself as she pulled her coat's huge, fur-lined hood up and allowed the rim to settle just above her eyes. It obscured most of her face in its shadow. The people's tolerance of Loki's presence was largely accredited to _hers_... her apparent control over his emotions, her inner strength, the will to fight him if necessary... all of that general badass-ery. Her ridiculously huge hindrance of a belly could bring _them_ doubts as well.  
  
A massive press-conference type thing had already been arranged. One at which - the whole world knew - their persuasive would-be conqueror would speak. She leaned down over Isleif's crib - as best she could - and kissed her tiny head. When she struggled to stand back up not one but _two_ of her attendants became concerned enough to risk an unsolicited touch. The one she trusted helped her stand by adding his strength to her arm, and the one she trusted _more_ put a hand on her back, encouraging her to take it slow, as always. Do I really look _that_ pained? she thought. Maybe I _shouldn't_ go...

Her indignant expression became a very slight smile when the first one casually avoided her eyes. The second - a number - however, remained completely unfazed, donning a fearless grin as Loki came into the room. " _Must_ you attend this, pet?"  
  
She shot him a dirty look. But she ignored the question, and abruptly changed the subject. "By the way," she started as she made her way towards the door. "If there _is_ another girl... I want to name her Frigga."  
  
His eyes flashed surprise and then a sudden, painful sadness. He hesitated, looking down. "To honor my mother's memory." She nodded and smiled sweetly, knowing he'd have more to say.  
  
"She would be... overjoyed. To see so many grandchildren." He laughed a little, remembering all of his mother's efforts to ensure that she'd _have them at all_. Keeping him from destroying himself, before he could find such love.  
  
She lifted one of his hands with both of hers, looked into his eyes and relocated them both to a well-hidden place close to the glorious stage that was the Lincoln Memorial. Slightly damaged now, but no less monolithic. Precisely Loki's style.  
  
Of course, with his record of giving new meanings to the phrase 'captive audience', not many were in attendance. It was the only reason he hadn't argued more vehemently for her safety. But there were cameras. Lots and lots of phones, and microphones, and cameras.  
  
She pretended to be just another spectator, getting as close to the top of the steps as she could be without seeming overly suspicious. But she watched them all carefully from under the hood and stood, poised... ready to use her skills should Loki need them. Despite all his doubts, she still had their full potential.  
  
She must have been offered a space in which to sit by at least twenty people, she realized, in not much time at all. Well... she was as big as a house. She giggled and pulled her hands back through the thick sleeves of the coat to the inside, joining them under her belly. Right next to her daggers.  
  
The space was still and silent. No anger, no questions, no rotten tomatoes just yet. There was only the silence and a thick smell of fear to the crowd. He addressed them with open arms. "My mortal friends." She _did_ hear someone scoff. "I have come to you, in your most desperate hour, to serve as a beacon of hope. My brother - " All of a sudden his audience burst into cheers. For his brother. He held his head high, retaining dignity, and waited for them to stop. He hadn't so much as raised hand to indicate the agitation she knew he surely felt. "As I was saying. My brother, King of Asgard, sits on his throne with a heavy, weary heart. He sees this realm languish from afar. He has asked me to speak to you now."  
  
He paused, listening to some of the murmured reactions to that. Then he began his trademark imperious pace. "I say to you now, _fear not_. We have seen it many times before. Yours is a species of adaptation. In the past, your realm would challenge you, and then you would change, evolve. _Survive_. The will of the nine now tests you, once again. When left to your own devices, you stagnate. You decline and you decay. You care not for the hardships to come, because none now have _lived_ them in the past." He nodded to himself. "This renders all mortals a bit... short-sighted, I suppose." He raised a finger to emphasize the next part. "But no Asgardian will hold it against you as weakness." Then he clenched that hand into a fist. "You are strong and _resilient_ , nonetheless."  
  
In the space between his preachings, one brave reporter had raised his hand, and now he stepped forward to speak. She was pretty sure it was the same younger, endearingly-awkward guy who had given her his coat long ago. She smiled. But not for long. "Um yeah I have a very important question. One I think we all probably have," he added as he looked around. "Why should we listen to you?"  
  
Suddenly they were all in an uproar, voicing agreements with this. The reporter seemed fearless. He turned right back to Loki, palms-up, as if he were no more than the innocent conduit for that point.  
  
Loki actually fumbled. But he played it off expertly with a nod of his head and a good-humored, patient grin. "Well you are certainly under no obligation..." At that point the unruly voices took over. Demands. Resentments. A few trying to calm the others down. No longer the center of attention, he allowed his gaze to drift back towards his mortal. He glanced down briefly in thought, then, very slightly, narrowed his eyes at her. A question. She knew what he was asking and of course she nodded, slightly.  
  
As she made her wobbly way past them all and up to the top of the steps, he put his hand over his heart, as if wounded by their insolence. She planted herself right under his open and waiting arm... prompting those curious to quiet. He raised his voice only slightly; just enough to be heard by the remaining protesters. "Well then. If you don't wish to listen to me, perhaps you might listen to _her_."  
  
Calmly, she pushed back the hood. Dead silence. Instantly. She raised an eyebrow, scanned the crowd and gave them a charmingly wicked smile. "Listen to him." A few of them actually laughed. Tension successfully broken.  
  
He followed her example and donned a sly grin as well. "Though I still find this too warm of a realm..." More chuckles amongst the savvy. "...I intend to ensure you survive this. Asgard _will_ come to your aid. And we are to serve as liaisons." He held her more tightly to his side. "This godly mortal woman and her children are, after all, the cause of the agreement which has long since reunited us. But never forget that they are mine, and therefore under my protection."  
  
A middle-aged, male reporter scoffed loudly. "I don't think _she's_ the one who needs protecting." She shot him a withering look.  
  
Loki dipped his head in acknowledgement of this rudely-spoken point. "Perhaps not. But know this above all else: If this realm _does_ betray her again, or allows her to be harmed in any way..." He looked away, shaking his head. Nobody dared interrupt him now, and he couldn't help but sneer a bit along with his ominous, darkened voice, "...and I will personally ensure that it suffers, as it has in my _darkest_ fantasies, ever since the capture with which this all began." He scanned the crowd, stone-faced, to see that they understood.  
  
Nobody really knew how to respond to that. But suddenly, her babies did. A moderately painful contraction, right away. It took her by surprise and she gasped, gripping the fabric of her coat, with two fists over her belly. She stood there, shocked and staring into nothingness for a moment, a chill running through her entire body.

The people only whispered as Loki shifted forward, quickly, to find her lowered gaze. She unclenched her fists and looked at him - paralyzed by a thought. "They're early..."  
  
Without hesitation he moved to face her completely - putting himself between her and the stunned reporters. He put one hand on her shoulder and another on her belly. Her eyes welled up. She just...  couldn't lose them. She'd come so close to losing Isleif...  
  
Then, to her surprise, he smiled. "No more than two months, pet." She thought for a minute. He was right. Two months on a two-year-three-month gestation period wasn't that much at all. Still, Loki would have to 'help'... and she never would've thought it would happen at a time like this! She'd planned to stay indoors for the last few weeks, every day, just to avoid this sort of thing. It wasn't safe to teleport, she was reminded, by another, more intense contraction.  
  
His audience was now her audience. After a few moments of silence, during which they all seemed to be on-edge, they began to paparazzi on her. Fearful of Loki, they kept a good distance. But they began to yell questions to her. She answered as many as possible. Yes, I am going into labor. Yes they are Loki's. And multiples. Good god, people, she thought several questions later. Have some decency! For _some_ reason they already knew every freaking thing she'd ever told an agent - or an Avenger.

She wasn't going to be able to keep her current image as the fiercely-protective mother of Loki's children for very long. Her frustration and embarrassment were rapidly becoming anger. She was about to become the fiercely- _homicidal_ House of Flying Daggers.  
  
Loki picked up on that feeling. She felt exposed, at risk. Not safe. Against his better judgement he'd stepped to one side when she'd decided to speak to them. But he wrapped his arm around her, in an effort to make her feel secure. Carefully, he watched the crowd. She appeared to them so much stronger than she was. Then, when the next contraction came, he put his other arm behind her knees and scooped her up, as quickly and as gently as he could. He gave her no time to object. He carried his queen away from the steps and into the sheltered area of the mortals' well-built monument. Still speechless, she began to struggle against him to express her disapproval. He immediately put her down. Then he made quick and ominous strides back to the top of the steps. He waved his hand over the crowd and commanded them clearly, "Be gone!"  
  
She couldn't help but smile slightly at that. She watched him use varied levels of intimidation to shoo them all away... like moths from a single flame. But they all went, and he was forced to lay a finger on no one. He rushed back to her side, where he grasped her hand. Worried, she asked, "Are we really going to have to do this _here_?"  
  
He looked down at their hands regretfully. "I see no alternative, pet. You already have such pain..."  
  
"It's not really pain just yet..." she lied. But then she thought it through. There was no point in moving to anywhere else - not within walking distance.  
  
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Then he stood again and lifted his gaze towards the blue-grey dappled sky. "Heimdall if you would be so kind."  
  
Apparently Heimdall had already - somehow - called for them. The Asgardian healers. Well, he was an all-seeing entity, she reminded herself. He probably knew before she did. How disturbing.  
  
The Bifrost came down from the sky, connecting the two realms beautifully somewhere far off to her right. It avoided the reflecting pool and all the other earthly monuments - though most had been damaged by the riots long ago. She noticed more people had begun to crowd around the opposite end of said water feature. She wondered if they still had access to that super-zoom camera technology. Then another contraction happened, and she found that she didn't care.  
  
They made their way towards her with confidence... yet very few things on-hand. Two healers, one scientist-looking fellow and Geisli, surrounded by three royal guards. A frightening sight in her currently-compromised state. Loki made sure that _he_ was the first to approach again. His expression was calm... and calculating. What had they told him already? "Have no fear My Queen. _Never_ have fear when I am near you." She closed her eyes and nodded. "Would you like me to ease the pain?"  
  
"No," she groaned, leaning back onto her hands in an attempt to relieve it some. "Save it..." He could 'ease' her anxiety too. But he wouldn't offer that. She'd only refuse it, still wary of her mind being altered in any way.  
  
Geisli moved ahead and signaled with a quick hand for them all to stay back a bit. He knew he had her trust. He wore an extra-wide, joyful smile. Immediately he knelt down to her level and gave the salute. "Princess." The others did the same. She gave them a somewhat disingenuous smile. She never did like that title. He continued to look freaking thrilled about all of this, as he pulled from his coat what looked like a very thin tablet, of sorts. Nonchalantly, he waved it over her belly. It projected a small, three-dimensional image of her babies, much like the soul forge had. Another healer, more cautiously, did the same from the other side.

The older healer - the one with the attire of someone who normally studied, not practiced - finally rose from one knee, moved in and set up camp about ten feet from where she was, on the side that faced the water. The spear-wielding guards, having satisfactorily surveyed the land for enemies, posted at equal distances. Covering all three sides. But that was the last thing she saw before the healer's complex device began to produce a glowing Asgardian force field. Like wildfire it moved all around her, over everything, drawing a circle she realized, and began to build half of a sphere. It rose quickly, in uneven waves, melting up from the ground... opaque. The Asgardians valued their privacy. And for that she was _eternally grateful_.  
  
Slowly, and gently, Geisli laid his free hand on her leg. He said nothing, only smiled at her, but she knew what he was hinting at. Between contractions she unbuttoned the fluffy coat and removed all the lower parts of her armor, including those stretchy green pants. Her anxiety worsened at that. It wasn't just being less-clothed in front of the strangers. It was more of an inexplicable smack from reality. She was really going to do this. And it was going to suck. A lot.

Suddenly she felt a very unsettling sensation, very low. Kind of a pop. It wasn't until she began to - um - gush, that she realized her water had broken. If it hadn't already been, she was sure that her face was bright red. But Geisli just gave it a glance, gave _her_ a glance, and went back to doing things with the device, the smile still lingering in his otherwise-focused expression. Loki put his hand on her back again. "They will ask you to relax." She gave him a look of disbelief, at which he shook his head. "A healer I am not. But I can see your fear."  
  
She tried. And tried, and tried to hold on to that calm he projected so well. But as the minutes stretched into hours, it was hard. Her eyes widened each time she felt something she hadn't before with Isleif. SHIELD had denied her that experience.    
  
On top of it, she simply couldn't help but show what she perceived as weakness - though Loki had firmly denied it. Stubborn, she let out low hums to express any major discomfort, even as the pains intensified. Gradually they melded with another one though... one in her lower spine. And _that_ felt like was being torn apart. The next contraction made her whimper pathetically - despite her determination not to freaking do that.  
  
One of the healers did, in fact, remind her to breathe and relax. Then she put her hand on Loki's shoulder. He got the hint, reluctantly leaving her side, his eyes never leaving hers though. He lowered himself to his knees, close behind her, instead. Then, slowly, he pressed his fingers to her hips... inviting her to lean back on him. Surprising them both, she accepted. He peered over her shoulder, truly shocked, but grinned to show his approval. She averted her eyes from his. "I'm sorry, it's just... it all reminds me - "  
  
"No." He interrupted, his deep, soothing voice now resonating in her ear. "You mustn't think this way. Never again will I allow anything of the sort to occur." He looked to the healers. "Can you relieve her pain?"  
  
Geisli abruptly stopped everything he was doing. "My Prince... we are uncertain. We had expected to find a way before your children would be born but - unfortunately, we know nothing of how our current remedies may affect a child that is both jotun _and_ her breed of human..."  
  
She knew what she wanted in an instant. She'd already considered the possibilities. No one she'd spoken to was sure of what all had caused her to 'lose' her baby, in SHIELD's custody. And all it had taken to noticeably compromise Isleif's immune system was the lack of her mother's antibodies. What if it was the drugs? She refused to take that chance. She trusted Loki to try to help. But not Loki's talent for changing things, on a molecular level, within her babies. Not for this.  
  
"Don't," she ordered strongly, still trying to hide her weakness.  
  
"Oh, pet..." Loki breathed, shaking his head just once. He kept his own worries concealed. "There is no shame in a desire to avoid pain and suffering."  
  
"Not if there's even a chance of it..." She wanted to say more but was cut off by an involuntary cringe.  
  
He knelt behind her silently after that, holding her where she needed it, trying to keep her comfortable. Outwardly he emanated power, and serenity - the kind only _he_ could create. But he frowned when he noticed her tolerance weakening, her body beginning to shake... "Are you alright -"  
  
She nodded. Then, as if only to contradict her, there was a particularly testing combination of pains at once. She lost her composure. She gasped twice in one breath, resisting the urge to make more pitiful sounds and expressions than that for him to see.  
  
He straightened his posture and looked down at her indignantly, almost cross. "You are not."  
  
She pressed her lips together hard and shook her head.  
  
He didn't even ask. He just placed a hand on her forehead, and asked her brain not to accept _every_ pain signal her body was sending it now. At first she was frustrated with his insistence. But she reminded herself to trust him. And the next several hours worth of contractions were downright bearable for it. Then, behind them, she began to feel a pressure... she was feeling the urge to push.

Geisli scanned her again and turned the image back and forth, touching things with furious speed, suddenly alarmed and confused. He tried to hide it though - with the fakest smile she'd ever seen come from him yet. "Princess... you must not push."  
  
She remembered to breathe before responding. "Why?"  
  
The female healer chimed in so he could go back to studying the data. "You are not physically capable of birthing the Prince's children. And a birth by knife..." She raised an eyebrow. "though preferable, would mean you must sleep, as before..." She let her words trail off, a hopeful expression on her face. Then quickly, it faded, as her patient's eyes cried out in fear. "Princess, I know of your strength. But it seems that your stress would be worse, by far, than that of a 'natural' birth..." She glanced at Loki then. "The Prince's assistance makes this possible." Sara looked away, absorbing the truth of the matter.

The healer observed her reaction and softened her tone, placing a hand on hers, in an attempt to soothe her worries. "Aside from the prince's corrections, it will be like human birth." But the look she got back reminded her that the Princess wanted nothing from her but her blunt and direct honesty. She sighed. "You will stretch, and most certainly bleed and tear..." She looked down with raised eyebrows, struggling to convey the truth. But Sara already knew it. She'd been told many times before. It _should have happened_ before.

The asynjur snapped back to attention, a renewed sense of urgency in her words. "We will heal you. But until he is finished, you _mustn't_ hasten the process. You are simply too small in frame."  
  
Oh god. That's what he'd meant. Isleif had been born prematurely, but at full term a half-jotun was just too big to get past what wouldn't stretch - her _bones_. _That_ was how Loki would help?  
  
"My Prince..." The asynjur indicated that he do so quickly, with only her expression. He lifted his hand from her head and carefully backed away, laying her down flat on the cold, hard marble. She didn't resist this at all... because suddenly it felt like she'd been hit by a car; by the pain. She remembered to breathe again.  
  
He leaned over to look into her eyes, still on one knee. "You are strong." He took her hand, more forcefully this time, regaining her full attention. "I love you. And you are _strong_."  
  
"My Prince..." the asynjur interjected loudly, concerned.  
  
He held her face with one hand, and smiled with pride, just staring.  
  
"Loki!" she scolded, desperate for his attention. "The child _will not_ _pass_ without your aid."  
  
He straightened up, but glanced back down. "I'm sorry, pet." He couldn't save her and the babies, and relieve her pain all at once. And he was going to cause some more.  
  
They all parted ways as an agile, determined Loki switched positions, and lifted her knees from between them. He held his hands firmly to her skin, just below her belly, and forced himself to concentrate on the task. Unable to take the fear and the pains and the pressure all together, she began to cry.  
  
The male healer scanned her again and shook his head, speaking reluctantly. "The first child progresses too quickly..." They all looked down at her suddenly... apologetically. Oh no.  
  
Loki closed his eyes again, and the deep ache he caused intensified, combining with the ever-increasing contractions. She feared it was just too much... It felt like he was going to break her! She tried to tell him, but she couldn't - not while she was screaming. Surely he didn't realize what he was doing! Instinctively she pulled her arms back and tried to back away.  
  
All three healers held her down with alarming strength and speed. While Loki continued to chant, Geisli did his best to soothe her. "I'm afraid you must not move. But Princess... I _know_ you will endure. You would do _anything_ for them." He glanced at her belly and smiled. She wanted so badly to fight them all off just then. But he was right.

Somehow, he knew when it was time. "Be _calm_ , Princess..." He double-checked with his device. "Then, do as your body says."  
  
For hours her body had been telling her to push. And she did, for several more. She paused and gasped and cried, but summoned strength, Geisli's words still echoing in her head.  
  
A whole new level of pain happened then, and she wasn't sure what it was. Until she caught sight of Loki. His fingers were still spread across her skin, but as he looked up at her for the first time in a while he wore a prideful, excited grin. She wanted to yell at him for it. But it gave her a clue as to what it was. Crowning. The burn just got worse and worse.  
  
She screamed so hard her throat stung. Even her involuntary multi-syllable cries just didn't seem like enough to express that kind of pain. She strained to look down, ignoring the healers' pleas, but the sight of her blood only horrified her. She was literally coming undone.  
  
Just when she thought she couldn't take it any more, the excruciating pushing seemed to be assisted by some pulling... and some relief. Her baby was almost free of all her stupid, weak human flesh. Baby number one, of three. She was already so exhausted...  
  
The sound of her baby's first cries, though, just... made it all seem better. As well as the regressing burn. She knew it would soon return. But she smiled at Loki's wide-eyed, amazed expression. In his arms was another blue-skinned, beautifully-marked heir. A boy.  
  
She only got a break - and he only got to hold him - for twenty minutes, at most. Then she was groaning again. He rushed to her side and controlled all the pain that time. And the next. Definitely no less work, but it was so much easier to bear. She began to feel weak, and dizzy, but the blood finally stopped its flow when they did what they did to heal her. Then they handed her two of her babies...  
  
Two boys and a girl. Fraternal triplets, of course. There was no shortage of eggs in her Hydra-enhanced body... ironic. She had them to thank for this gift.  
  
Asgard had strict rules against sharing advanced technology. But after witnessing what they could of that event, those suffering more strongly requested its help. Loki served as a faithful representative, as promised. But in fact he was pretty well venerated, as if he _were_ Earth's king. She spent some time just doing as Loki said, too exhausted to argue for her strength. Once she had recovered, though, she made herself more available. And some would come to her, just as the citizens of Asgard had. She would relay requests. And Thor - ever the benevolent bleeding heart - ended up breaking his own realm's rules in order to help his favorite lesser beings.  
  
She loved Loki, with _all_ of her heart now. And together - with few forces both able and willing to stop them - she finally felt... safe. Secure in the truth that she could protect herself and her children. And if not... well the world was well-aware of the nature of Loki's wrath. And yet, somehow, he managed to keep them _unaware_ of the things that went on in places other than that illustrious golden hall. The fortress was huge, but it was _home_. In more ways than one she gave in to his devilish charms, completely and willingly... and she made many more of his heirs. For all intents and purposes she was still his queen and - given that he treated them all as something far more precious than that - she wanted to do it, for him. In spite of the difficult births.  
  
The appearance of her first truly white hairs was an abrupt reminder of his little queen's mortality. And around the same time, she began to notice that his diplomatic journeys were taking longer, mysteriously. Suspiciously. She had finally resolved to question him about it, when he began to return with things: Books. Scrolls. Strange substances. All rumored to extend or 'make infinite' the life of a single mortal. One of the potions was even called 'Iðunn's Apple". It did not taste like apples.  
  
She accepted all his efforts, though her mortality never lessened. She watched her children grow and thrive, never to suffer the heat that she had again. At the same time she thoroughly enjoyed keeping an eye on the realm as a whole, and gladly took any opportunity to cause more destruction and chaos, when it seemed like her people were trying to go back to their old ways. She developed a reputation for her 'removals' of tyrants and despots - and her refusal to say where they'd gone. Ironically, the ever-present fear of _that_ unknown gave many the courage to pursue those types themselves, before they ever even showed up on her radar. She never would have thought it was possible to be so incredibly, _victoriously_ happy.

Before his very eyes, she healed, improved, and evolved into something else - a wise, loving, fearsome and fiery old woman. Or, at least, her mind was that...

He found himself no more able to accept that she must - long before him - die. It just didn't seem to fit. She _loved_ him. She loved _every minute_ of a life filled with power and purpose. He'd always make sure of that.

He remained obstinately blind to the white hair taking over the already-silvery blonde, and the wrinkles all over her skin - but he did notice her mind beginning to fade... slowly. Very slowly. It threatened to leave him. He ignored this, as her body continued to gradually, yet undeniably, weaken. But she seemed so very tired. She was nearly one hundred and twenty.  
  
The pure, open minds of his children granted them a different perspective on this. She had prepared them for it, quite well. Each had known, from the beginning of their ability to comprehend it, that while they were young she would leave them. And none had questioned yet why _he,_ at this time, would not.

He clung to the bliss for as long as he could, in denial. And so it hit him _hard_. As cruel fate would have it - and with precious little warning - he found her collapsed, on the floor of the main hall... unconscious. He ran to her immediately. She woke within minutes, appearing to have once again overestimated the energy which allowed her to teleport there. But as he looked into her ever-lovely eyes for the reason she had done this, he saw something that stopped his heart. He let out a quick breath, in shock and sudden fear. Her energy - her very life force - was dim, and fading fast.  
  
She pushed herself up with her frail, shaking arms, and he helped her with a hand on her back. After a minute, he had her gaze again... though he didn't _want_ it now. In it there was a deep and piercing sadness...

Through it though, she smiled, and whispered, short of breath, "I think it's time to go."  
  
He stared at her, horrified, as she wilted down into his arms. He let her back onto the floor, but he leaned over closely and gently placed his hand over her heart. "No, pet. No... please. _Stay with me_... You cannot -" His voice broke under the weight of the increasing dread, silencing his senseless pleas.  
  
"I'm sorry..." she managed, as soon as she'd caught her breath. "But Loki... I have to. I'm sorry." He shook his head, incredulous. How could she simply accept this? Suddenly he noticed a servant, standing still at the entrance to the room, both hands over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. The number that Sara so loved. Soon she was joined by the others. They kept their distance, and their silence, leaving only to tend to their children.  
  
There was nothing that he could do! "NO, Sara!" he commanded, as if he could make her obey. He picked her up again and clutched her protectively to his chest. "I forbid you to leave me," he whispered into her ear. He knew it would make her laugh. A wheeze and a rebellious grin, was all it actually was. But he smiled back all the same.  
  
He could no longer bear to watch her brightness fade. Instead, he focused on holding her. She was gradually becoming disoriented. She breathed erratically, and looked all around as if frightened. But when she saw his face again she smiled. Weakly... yet purely. Only then did his eyes well up, and he had to look away. It wasn't bravery in the face of death the mortals had, that she'd tried to tell him of. It was _peace_. She seemed to be truly at peace. He forced himself to keep at least minimal composure, not for the servants nor the guards, but for her. Her final vision of him would be full of _naught but love_. They gazed at each other knowingly, mischievously... adoringly. Then a long, soft sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes and her beautiful, ageless smile fell further and further away. And they stopped moving. _She'd_... stopped moving.  
  
Overwhelmed, he could not help but release the flood of tears, as he lowered her to the floor. He gripped both her hands in despair. But her body gave in... and she left him. She took with her _so much_...  
  
His strength and his psyche all crumbled. It wasn't right! It wasn't fair. But then her scars began to reappear. In the same manner he'd erased them, they revealed themselves again. Her shoulder, her arm. Her forehead. _So many_. They served as reminders of all she had endured. And suddenly he felt so... honored - that a creature so short-lived had seen fit to love him... all of him. Even and especially his potent, _insufferable_ rage. Though he knew it was no longer hers, he laid his head on the chest before him and heavily, quietly wept. His hands, upon letting hers go, clenched into painful fists.  
  
The pain was... simply agonizing. It defeated with ease all the other distractions of life. It felt like time had stopped, at the moment she'd drawn her last breath. Sentiment. It _would_ be his demise. Though not quite yet, it seemed.  
  
Of course it did not stop. Time continued on its dreadful path towards Ragnarok, and once again he was left, alone, to watch. To live. To mourn. He just could not fathom that peace. The contentment she'd felt, at the end of her hard-earned life. For a time he was resentful, for the duration of his own meager existence. But he came to appreciate it more. He'd seen things beyond imagination. Worlds created, civilizations destroyed. The stages of life were timeless. And his children... they eased his suffering.  
  
One day his youngest, Soren, and his second-born Andríður, came running into the throne room, speaking quickly and simultaneously. Soren, though smaller, spoke louder than his brother, and his pale cheeks were flushed a bright pink. He'd been outside in the cold with no coat again. "Daddy! Uncle Thor says that Mother was _a mortal!_ "  
  
He furrowed his brow and smiled. A bit of brotherly revenge, that was, for all the little comments he'd made regarding the mortality of Jane.  
  
But Thor was not far behind. "Brother I apologize. I did not realize - "  
  
He held up his hand. "No. It's alright. It was but a matter of time. I certainly _have_ been a fool..." He paused, then turned away. "...but not so foolish as to think I could keep her memory all to myself for the rest of my days."  
  
A warm yet weary smile spread across his brother's face. He nodded, saying nothing.  
  
Meanwhile Loki crouched down to Soren's level, and joined him in his excitement. "And what would you think of _that?_ "  
  
He looked away, the thought of it tumbling about in that brilliant little mind of his. "I don't know. It's just... Does that mean _I'm_ a mortal too?" He looked down at himself. "I don't feel like one."  
  
"Me neither," Andríður added conclusively.  
  
"Your friends are mostly mortal. Have none of them told you how it feels?"  
  
His cherry-red eyes went very wide at that. He shook his head a bit too emphatically, giving his icy blond locks the freedom to fall back down and over his face. Loki, most lovingly, grinned.  
  
"I miss the snow," Andríður complained. "When's it going to snow again?"  
  
He chuckled at the sudden change of interest. "Very soon, I'm sure. It is never too warm for long." He glanced down and pressed his lips together, a sullen expression flashing across his face just before he stood again. "Go and fetch your sisters. It's high time I told you all a story."  
  
They always loved the stories that he told them of his life - a softened and refocused version of it, of course. But this story was still quite difficult. Quickly, his two sons returned, his girls mostly running ahead. Only their first-born, Isleif, did not immediately sit. She stood quietly; uncertainly, for a long and pensive moment. When he noticed this, he conveyed to her wordlessly the oddly-timed gathering's true purpose. That she'd finally learn of her mother. That ethereal being of strength and love she saw through the blinding fog of her earliest, most precious of memories.  
  
She took a seat quickly then, excited. She grinned at her brothers and sisters. All beautiful. All individual. But even Andríður, a mirror's image of himself... in some ways reminded him of her.  
  
"Your mother - " He paused, as he viewed from a great distance the pain he'd felt that day. They waited, squirming, anxious. He spoke very clearly and carefully, his imposing voice this time full of wistful yet wondrous joy. "History knows her as 4372. But..." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Once upon a time... she was no more than Agent Iversen." He smiled and leaned over to poke little Sara's chest. She giggled. "Agent _Sara_ Iversen."


End file.
